


A Hundred Years and a Thousand Losses Won't Keep Me Away From You

by liesel_fogel



Category: Gintama
Genre: Crossdressing, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, GinHiji - Freeform, GinHijiGin, Joui War, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Torture, Plotty, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Torture, Waterboarding, implied GinZura, soldier gintoki, this is turning out to be much longer than i initially thought, young gintoki, young hijikata
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesel_fogel/pseuds/liesel_fogel
Summary: Hijikata Toushirou meets a young Sakata Gintoki as a lost soldier during the Joui War, when he challenges their dojo and wins. Infuriated, and determined to win back his dojo's pride, the young Hijikata sets out to defeat Gintoki, but an unlikely friendship develops.Ten years later, Hijikata runs into Gintoki again in Edo, but Gintoki doesn't seem to remember him. Or is he hiding something...?





	1. First Encounter

The year was 1855. It had been two years since the Amanto had arrived in Japan, and the country had been thrown into turmoil. War between the Amanto, Bakufu government, and Joui rebels ravaged the land, each day bringing news of further violence and destruction. Yet for Hijikata Toushirou, then sixteen going on seventeen, life was uncharacteristically peaceful.

Safe from the war, in the country province of Bushuu, he practiced _kenjutsu,_ swordsmanship under the roof of the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu dojo, guided by the firm (yet hairy) hand of Kondo Isao. For the first time since leaving his brother Tamegoro’s estate, he felt a sense of belonging, of family, of _home._ Wrapped up in the doldrums of everyday life and training, it was easy to forget that the world was at war.

At least until the silver-haired soldier came.

He was bloodied, injured; his face, hair, clothes and body stained in dirt, dried blood, and ash. The smell of death, blood, and gunpowder followed him into the main hall of the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu dojo where Hijikata was practicing his sword swings with the other disciples. They all stopped their practicing as he entered, and stared.

His cheeks were hollowed, his movements labored and jerky. He was unmistakably a soldier, wearing armor across his chest with two swords at his hip, a metal headband tied around his forehead underneath his matted hair. His face was young, he didn’t appear to be much older than Hijikata, if at all; but his hair, underneath the grime and blood, looked silver.

His eyes were red, and like those of a corpse.

“Kondo, sir, I’m sorry!” apologized a young dojo member, hurrying in after the soldier. “He just barged in- he said he wants to challenge the dojo!”

The disciples of the dojo stirred excitedly, abandoning practice and beginning to talk amongst themselves, but the booming voice of Kondo Isao, the leader of the dojo, quieted them.

“I’m sorry,” he addressed the soldier directly, stepping towards him. “I can’t allow our disciples to fight an injured man. It’s immoral.”

“I’m not injured,” said the soldier. His voice was deeper than Hijikata had expected, and he spoke with conviction even though he was obviously hurt. There was a lazy sort of drawl to his words, and for reasons Hijikata couldn’t explain, it pissed him off. “‘S’not my blood.”

Kondo wavered, obviously uneasy. To decline a challenge could insinuate that the dojo was weak, and reflect badly on its reputation. “Very well,” he decided, crossing his arms. He nodded his head at Okita Sougo. “Okita here will be your first opponent,” he announced. Sougo grinned and stepped forwards in front of Kondo, gripping his wooden sword eagerly.

“Huh? A kid? Oi, whad'ya take me for, an imbecile?” complained the soldier, digging out ear wax from his left ear with his pinky finger.

Kondo smiled. “Not at all. Okita is one of our best fighters, not many grown men can beat him.”

“Sure, sure.” The soldier extracted his pinky finger from his ear and inspected it, flicking a lump of earwax away. It fell at Sougo’s feet. He reached for one of the swords at his hip, but Kondo stopped him before he could draw it, saying,

“You won’t be needing that. We fight only with wooden swords here.” He handed the soldier one, and he took it, inspecting it for a brief moment. He ran his hands over it, testing its weight, and swung it in his hands a couple times.

“You ready?” Sougo asked, smirking slightly. He stepped into a fighting stance, readying his wooden sword.

“Sure,” drawled the soldier, though he did not move at all into a stance of any sort, only gripping his wooden sword tighter.

Kondo raised his arm, beginning to count down from three to one. Although Hijikata usually disliked when Sougo won matches against others (himself included), for the boasting and sneers that came afterwards were intolerable, this time he was eager for him to quickly beat the soldier. Something about that cocky smile of his annoyed Hijikata, and he couldn’t wait for it to be wiped off his face when Sougo would inevitably win.

Kondo finished the countdown, and the match begun. Sougo charged forwards, swinging his sword at the soldier, but he stepped aside swiftly and brought his sword down onto Sougo’s wrist, causing him to drop his sword. Immediately, Sougo sprung back, knees bent slightly, on the defensive. The soldier swept forward, arm and sword extended, and struck the side of Sougo’s knee with the sword. He crumpled to the ground, and before he had even lifted his head, the soldier’s wooden sword was pointed at his throat.

Silence fell across the dojo. Any whispering that had occurred between the disciples had ceased completely.

 _“Ippon_ ,” called out Kondo shakily. The first round was over in under a minute. None of them had expected Sougo’s defeat, and especially not so soon. He was considered a prodigy, a genius with the sword, and yet some _stranger,_ one who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, had beaten him with frightening ease. Hijikata gritted his teeth, a bead of sweat dripping down his jaw. He was to be next to fight the soldier, that was the order, and he felt his stomach churn, whether with anticipation or fear he did not know.

“Next, you will fight Hijikata Toushirou.” Kondo gestured for Hijikata to step forward, which he did, standing in front of the fallen form of Okita Sougo.

Facing the soldier, it was hard to stop his body from trembling. Hijikata gripped his wooden sword, palms slick with sweat. He could hear Kondo’s voice, as if from a distance, beginning the countdown, and the match started.

This time, the soldier fought on the offence, swinging his sword so fast it was a brown blur and it was all Hijikata could do just to block his attacks, he had no time to make any of his own. Even then, it was taking all of his strength and concentration to block his sword, both arms shaking with effort. Meanwhile, the soldier wasn’t even breaking a sweat, only using one arm to make his attacks. His fighting style was unlike any Hijikata had ever experienced. It was impossible to predict where he would strike next, and just reacting and blocking his attacks was taking up all of Hijikata’s energy, and fast. He was being driven backwards, he realized, and had to do something quick, before his strength ran out.

Hijikata dodged to the side of the soldier’s next attack, holding his sword high and charging forwards with a yell. The soldier did not budge, and a for a moment Hijikata believed he could win, that victory would be his. The moment did not last very long, for as Hijikata charged towards the soldier, he stepped to the side, sticking out his leg, and tripped him.

Hijikata fell flat on his face, his grip releasing on his wooden sword. It skid across the dojo floor and hit the opposite wall with a loud, clattering noise. He felt the floor reverberate under his prostrated body as the soldier approached, and rolled over onto his back to block the incoming attack, only to realize he had no sword.

The soldier raised his wooden sword, standing above Hijikata. His face, which had been slack and expressionless when he had first entered the dojo, was now fixed with chilling concentration, his red corpse eyes suddenly filled with killing intent. The tip of his wooden sword gleamed in the afternoon sun filtering in through the rafters, and the dojo fell completely silent.

Wind rushed through the still air as the soldier swung his sword down in an arc towards the right side of Hijikata’s neck, ruffling his long black hair. Hijikata squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the impact of hard wood against cartilage, and the rushing of displaced air caused by the speed at which the soldier wielded his sword grew louder, the sound mounting in his ears like a scream.

The pain never came.

Hijikata slowly opened his eyes. The murderous rage in the soldier’s eyes had dissipated, replaced with his previous slovenly expression. He tapped his wooden sword lightly to the right side of Hijikata’s neck, and Kondou’s booming voice filled the dojo with a cry of _“Ippon!”_ once more.

The match was over, and Hijikata had lost.

“Nice work,” the soldier grinned lazily, extending a hand to help Hijikata up. “You lasted longer than I expected.”

Hijikata glared at him for a minute before reluctantly accepting his hand. His grip was stronger than he had expected, and he hauled Hijikata to his feet before he was ready, causing him to stumble forward slightly, his legs like jelly.

“Whoa, whoa,” the soldier tutted, placing a hand on the small of Hijikata’s back to steady him. “Wouldn’t want’cha to fall and hurt your pretty face, would we?”

So he said, but, as Hijikata registered, up close, the soldier was surprisingly handsome under all the dirt and grime and dried blood. He had smooth skin, paler than Hijikata’s but still tanned from the sun; high cheekbones; a well-cut jaw and a winning smile that, although infuriating, made Hijikata’s face feel hot and his heart beat a tiny bit faster. Pressed up against him, Hijikata could feel the firmness of his muscles, his body undoubtedly taut and toned underneath his uniform.

Someone- probably Sougo- wolf-whistled mockingly and Hijikata turned bright red, tearing his eyes away from the soldier’s face.

“Get off me, creep!” he yelled, twisting out of his grasp, face burning with embarrassment.

“Huh? Creep? _You_ were the one who practically fell into my arms!”

“I did nothing of the sort!” spat Hijikata, taking a step back.

“Now, now,” appeased Kondo, laying a hand on Hijikata’s shoulder, instantly shutting him up. “That’s enough of that.” He faced the soldier. “It’s time for the third match: you, versus me. Think you can handle it?” He smiled warmly.

“Course I can.”

Kondo chuckled. “We’ll see about that. Hijikata, referee the match.”

Hijikata instantly straightened up. “Yes, sir!” He spotted the soldier snort at his compliance and fixed him with a steady glare before stepping to the side and beginning the countdown.

Though the soldier was strong, Hijikata was sure that Kondo would win. He was his fearless leader, after all. Nothing could stop him, especially not some cocky brat with curly hair. As he watched the match from the sidelines, he was reaffirmed in his belief: Kondo was driving the soldier back with his unceasing barrage of attacks. Hijikata allowed himself to relax, there was no way Kondo could lose. And then he noticed something that sent a chill down his spine.

Though he hadn’t managed to actually land a blow, Kondo was becoming more confident, more brash in his attacks. It appeared to an untrained eye that he was driving the soldier back, but in fact, as Hijikata witnessed, the soldier seemed to be luring him forwards, to a certain spot in the center of the dojo. He couldn’t fathom why, however, until the soldier suddenly ducked one of Kondo’s attacks, dropping to all fours.

“You give up?” asked Kondo, voice full of bravado, and it certainly looked as if the soldier was prostrating himself before him, begging for forgiveness.

The soldier said nothing, inserting his wooden sword between his teeth to hold it. He placed both hands flat on the ground, palms down and suddenly, without warning, _jumped_ using his arms. He soared over Kondo’s head, back arching, and it was then that Hijikata realized why he had brought him to the center of the dojo: the ceiling was at its highest point in that specific spot, allowing for the soldier to leap completely over Kondo.

The soldier twisted around in midair, taking his sword from his mouth, and landed squarely on his feet behind Kondo, sword poised under his chin.

 _“Ippon,”_ Hijikata forced himself to say, throat dry. He felt as if a stone had fallen in his stomach. Kondo- no, his dojo, the proud Tennen Rishin-Ryuu, had just been defeated by an unnamed soldier. How could this be happening?

“W-Well done!” boomed Kondo, clapping the soldier on the back with a large, hairy hand, though it was clear he was shaken by the loss. “You’ve just beaten the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu. Very impressive.” A little quieter, he added, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to break our sign, then.”

“Huh?” the soldier blinked. “Why?”

“It’s customary for the defeater of a dojo to break the dojo’s sign,” explained Kondo, brow furrowed. “Do you not do that where you come from?”

“Dunno.” The soldier scratched the back of his neck lazily. “I’ve never challenged a dojo before. My fri- Takasugi, I mean, said that if you challenge a dojo and win, you get money, so I thought…” he trailed off.

“You mean to say you’ve never challenged a dojo before?” asked Kondo incredulously. “But thats…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Come this way, I’ll get you some money.” He escorted the soldier out of the practice hall, leaving Hijikata and the other disciples to wonder what had just happened.

* * *

Hijikata sat outside Kondo’s office where he was meeting privately with the soldier, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Okita Mitsuba walked along and sat down silently next to him.

“Trying to eavesdrop?” she asked sweetly.  
“N-Not so loud!” hushed Hijikata, holding a finger to his lips and pressing his ear to the door. He could make out vague snippets of conversation inside and frowned, trying to piece them together.

* * *

 “So you’re sure Bushuu is safe from the fighting?” Kondo asked, a stern look on his face.

“Yes. The front is miles away,” confirmed the soldier. “I just got… lost.”

“Right.” There was a pause. “Forgive me for asking, but which side are you on?” Kondo sounded hesitant.

“Joui.”

On the other side of the door, Hijikata froze. The soldier he fought was a Joui patriot? Moreover, said Joui patriot was sitting less than ten feet from him, separated only by a thin slab of wood. If the authorities heard that the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu was housing a Joui patriot, they’d be shut down and sent to jail, or worse, executed. Though their dojo was fairly isolated in the countryside of Bushuu, news of the Kansei purge had reached even them.

“I see,” said Kondo slowly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I was here,” said the soldier. “I just need a small amount of money from you so I can find a place to stay or some food, and then I’ll leave. No one will know.”

“If word got out that I helped a Joui patriot…”

“No one will know,” repeated the soldier firmly.

Kondo wavered. He knew that if he helped a Joui patriot, he could be executed, his students jailed for the slightest provocation. However, the soldier seemed desperate. His clothes were torn and bloody, his cheeks hollowed, skin pale. He didn’t seem to be any older than his beloved disciple, Hijikata Toushirou, and the fact that such young men- practically children- were fighting for their lives filled Kondo with sorrow.

“Fine,” he decided. “I’ll give you some money. You can even take some clothes and medicine if you need. But that’s it. You can’t stay here, you’ll leave immediately. Understood?”

The soldier bowed his head in thanks. “I appreciate it greatly. Thank you.”

“You fought well,” praised Kondo. “After the war, there’ll be a spot for you at the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu, if you wish to accept it. Free of charge.”

“If I come back, you mean.” The soldier laughed hollowly.

Kondo bit his lip. “Yes.”

* * *

 Kondo led the soldier out to the front gates, carrying a spare uniform, a small first aid kit, and a money pouch with some coins inside. Hijikata followed at a distance curiously.

“Good luck,” said Kondo, resting a hand on the soldier’s shoulder briefly. He nodded gravely.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Before you go, may I ask your name?”

The soldier paused. “Gintoki,” he said, running a hand through his silver hair. “Sakata Gintoki. Nice to meet’cha.”

And with that, he turned and vanished off into the sunset.

* * *

 Hijikata Toushirou was angry. Embarrassed, too, and irritated. Disenchanted. He had lost so easily to that Sakata stranger- and not just him, the indomitable Tennen Rishin-Ryuu as well. He could not forgive this blemish to his dojo’s- nay, to Kondo’s- pride and reputation. Seething, he vowed that if he ever came across the soldier again, he would challenge him to a rematch- and win. For that to happen, however, he’d need to get stronger.

There was a small stream near the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu, and if one followed the stream north, it widened into a river, surrounded on both sides by thick forest. By the mouth of the river, unknown to many, was a small clearing enclosed by trees. Whenever Hijikata was troubled, or simply wanted privacy, he would steal away to this spot and practice his _kenjutsu,_ or swordsmanship, swinging his wooden sword until his arms could no longer lift. Surrounded by nature and peaceful quiet apart from the babbling of the river and the rush of the waterfall that emptied into it, it was a good way to clear his mind. And so, with his mind clouded with anger, he headed to his secret enclave to practice.

When he arrived, however, he found he was not alone. Bent over, wading calf-deep in the river- _his_ river, Hijikata thought angrily- was the silver-haired soldier from yesterday. He was naked save for a white _fundoshi,_ his uniform cleaned and hanging on a nearby branch to dry. Hijikata wanted to yell out, chase him out of the clearing, but, perhaps against his better judgement, he hid behind a tree and watched.

The soldier- Sakata, wasn’t it- bent over and cupped water in his hands, straightening up and pouring the water in his palms over his head, washing his hair. Droplets cascaded down his broad, muscled shoulders, dyed red and brown from the blood and dirt matting his hair. He repeated this process several times until he was satisfied, and shook his head vigorously, water flying off his curly hair every which way like a dog. He washed the rest of his body slowly, as if savouring the sensation of becoming clean, and Hijikata watched silently as the river water turned red. With most of the dirt cleared away, several cuts, scrapes, and bruises were revealed, as well as many scars. Briefly he wondered what sort of life Sakata had lived, but the thought was short lived as the soldier turned slightly, revealing his whole back, and he almost gasped aloud.

A long, red gash ran diagonally from the bottom of Sakata’s right shoulder blade to the small of his back, garish against his pale skin. It looked immensely painful, but he moved freely, as if he felt nothing.

“Hey,” the soldier spoke up, and Hijikata froze, pressing himself to the bark of the tree. “If you watch any longer, I’m gonna start charging you.”

Hijikata chose to stay silent, panic running through his veins. Sakata sighed and shrugged, then winced at the movement.

“Look,” he said. “If you’re gonna kill me, might as well do it now, while I don’t have a weapon with me. If not, then get over and help me wash my back.”

Shakily, Hijikata stepped out from behind the tree. The soldier raised a corner of his mouth in a crude half-smile.

“It’s you,” he recognized. “The brat from the dojo.”

“I’m not a brat.” Hijikata tossed his long black hair over his shoulder haughtily. Steeling himself, he placed a hand on the wooden sword hanging loosely by his side, remembering the decision he had made earlier to fight the soldier. “For… For the honor of the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu school of _kenjutsu,_ and for my master Kondo Isao, I challenge you to a rematch!’

“Sure, sure,” replied Sakata, waving his hand lazily. “But first, could you wash my back? I’m getting pruney in here.”

“Why should I wash the back of someone I hardly know? _Especially_ a Joui patriot.” Hijikata narrowed his eyes, staring down the soldier.

“Because I asked? Because I beat you yesterday? Because I just provided you with a year’s worth of wet dreams? Because I-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” spat Hijikata, trying to sound tough, although he felt his face heat up under the half-lidded gaze of the soldier. He floundered, trying to decide whether to leave or to help. He shouldn’t even be talking to Sakata, but it wasn’t as if anyone would find out, and despite being a Joui patriot, he didn’t seem to mean any harm. Besides, the sooner Sakata was healed, the sooner he’d leave, assumed Hijikata. Therefore, he reasoned, in helping Sakata he’d be helping the dojo by not having him around longer.

“Fine, I’ll wash yer goddamn back for ya,” Hijikata scowled, rolling up his sleeves and approaching the riverbank. He tied up his hair. “What do ya want me to do, exactly?”

“For starters, could you rinse it off? And then- are you good with a needle?” Sakata waded towards Hijikata, stopping opposite the riverbank.

“I guess,” shrugged Hijikata. “Why?”

“I need you to stitch it up for me.”

Hijikata’s eyes widened. “Hell, no!” He took a step back. “I can’t do that- no way!”

“It’s okay, I’ll walk you through it,” appeased Sakata. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t exactly reach.”

Hijikata shook his head. “No. Uh-uh. I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it, don’t worry.” Sakata tilted his head to the side slightly. “How about this: I’ll accept your challenge to a rematch if you patch me up. I’ll even teach you moves if you want.”

Hijikata considered his proposition for a minute. Part of him wanted to refuse, to turn around and walk away that instant, and forget all about the injured soldier in the woods. He was risking so much just by talking to him. But if he left, he reckoned, he’d never get to fight him. He’d never reclaim his dojo’s honor, he’d never learn just how strong Sakata was and how to fight like him. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But if I mess up, it’s your fault.”

* * *

 A fire was built, the needle sterilized. Hijikata knelt on a flat rock, slightly elevated behind Sakata, who had put on a yukata at Hijikata’s request, exposing only his torso. He sat cross-legged in front of the rock upon which Hijikata knelt. He had no disinfectant, so they boiled a pot of water and Hijikata rinsed the wound gingerly with a piece of cloth torn off from Sakata’s uniform sleeve. The area around the wound was red and inflamed, and though the gash was long, thankfully it wasn’t very deep. As he dabbed at it with the wet cloth, it began to bleed again.

“It’s fine,” Sakata placated him, sensing his panic. “Just press the cloth to where it's bleeding for a while. It’ll stop.” Hijikata did as he was told, blood trickling through his fingers. He felt slightly queasy, and decided to ask Sakata questions to quell the churning in his stomach.

“What’s your name?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Sakata Gintoki.”

“Sakata-san.” Hijikata tested out the words. They felt funny in his mouth. The soldier laughed, his back rippling under Hijikata’s hands.

“Just call me Gin. Everyone does. Well, Zura calls me Gintoki, but he’s stubborn like that.” He chuckled, his tone lifting at the mention of this ‘Zura’ person, and Hijikata wondered exactly who they were to Gintoki.

“What about you?” asked Gintoki. “I know it’s Toushi-something. That gorilla- Kondo- kept boasting about you, his star student.”

“Really?” Hijikata couldn’t hide the elation in his voice. “I- I mean, I’m Hijikata Toushirou.”

“Long name. Can I call you Tosshi?” Gintoki snickered.

“You may not.”

“How about Toushirou-chan?”

“No way.”

“Hijikata-kun, then.”

Hijikata paused, deliberating. “Fine,” he decided. “How old are you, Sakata-san?”

“I told you, call me Gin,” groused Gintoki. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Almost seventeen.”

“Around that age, then,” mused Gintoki.

“How can you not know how old you are?” The wound on Gintoki’s back had ceased bleeding. Hijikata wrung out the cloth, now a dark red, and threaded the sterilized needle, the tip still glowing orange. “I’m going to start now. Are you ready?”

“Fine.” Gintoki nodded. He made a slight hissing sound as the hot needle punctured his skin, but didn’t budge or show any other outwards expressions of pain, at least as far as Hijikata could see.

“What about your birthday? When’s that?” Hijikata pulled the needle through to the other side of the wound, piercing the skin from below and pulling the suture together. He was already beginning to perspire. The questions, although meaningless, helped keep him focused and not panicking. It was probably helping to distract Gintoki from the pain, as well.

“Dunno.”

“How can you not know?! Can you not count? Or are you just an idiot?”

“I ain’t an idiot!” growled Gintoki, turning his head to glare at Hijikata from over his shoulder. “Stop asking stupid questions.”

“They ain’t stupid questions!” snarled Hijikata, then stopped, deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll ask something else. Where are you from?”

Gintoki thought for a moment, brows furrowed. “South,” he said.

“Huh? What sort of answer is that?”

“Be glad you’re getting any answers at all! How do I know you’re not collecting information or something to send to the Bakufu? You could be trying to get me killed!”

“If I was tryin’ to kill ya, I wouldn’t be stitching up yer back, would I?” Hijikata pulled a little harder on the string than usual on purpose. Gintoki didn’t make a sound, but his right eye twitched, as if he was trying to stop himself from wincing.

“Not necessarily. You could be keeping me alive so that you can hand me over to the Bakufu and get a reward. I did take your dojo’s money, after all.” He smirked. “Not that you had much of it.”

“Shut it!” Hijikata snapped. “After this, I’m gonna fight ya. I’ll win back my dojo’s pride _and_ money.”

“If you want,” replied Gintoki offhandedly. “I’ll still win, though. You’re a hundred years too young to beat me.”

“Cocky bastard. I’ll beat you, even if it takes me a hundred years and a thousand losses. Just you wait.” The wound was beginning to bleed again, and Hijikata took a break, rinsing the strip of cloth from Gintoki’s sleeve in the boiled water and pressing it to the gash.

“How’d you even get this, anyway?” he asked, running a finger along the length of the cut. “It doesn’t look like an ordinary sword wound.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s not. Got it from a claw.”

“A claw?”

“Yeah, an Amanto claw.”

“They have _claws?”_

Gintoki lowered his head, staring at his hands folded in his lap. “Some of them.”

“What even _are_ they?” asked Hijikata in a hushed voice. “The Amanto.”

“Monsters,” Gintoki answered, and a shudder ran through his body. “Fuckin’ monsters, all of ‘em.”

Hijikata fell silent. He couldn’t fathom fighting monsters from another world- monsters with claws- at his age, yet sitting in front of him was a man- no, boy- who had fought them and lived. The idea seemed preposterous, but there was no other conclusion to be had.

Pressing the cloth to the wound, Hijikata felt Gintoki’s back rise and fall with every breath he took, firm muscles rippling under the scarred skin. He snuck a look at Gintoki’s face, wondering what his expression was, but his face was blank and unreadable. Though he was staring straight ahead, his eyes looked distant, as if he was seeing something thousands of miles away.

“I’m gonna continue stitching now,” Hijikata announced, and Gintoki started, seemingly emerging from his trance.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Go ahead.” Perhaps sensing the change in Hijikata’s tone, he asked a question himself. “That girl you were talking to back at the dojo, who’s she?”

“Okita Mitsuba. That first kid you fought’s older sister.” Hijikata smiled fondly, creating the second stitch.

“She’s cute. You bedded her yet?”

 _“W-What?!”_ spluttered Hijikata, pulling slightly too hard on the needle (“Watch it!” snapped Gintoki), “We’re not- It’s not like that!”

“Really?” Gintoki smirked. “She seemed awfully into you. Gin-san can tell these things, you know.” He tapped his forehead with an index finger knowingly.

“I told you, it’s not like that.” Hijikata licked his lips, concentrating heavily on threading the needle through Gintoki’s skin. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s what people say when something’s actually very simple, but they want to sound mysterious. Are you trying to sound mysterious, Toushirou-kun?”

“It’s _Hijikata-san_ to you,” snapped Hijikata. “And no, I’m not. I just don’t feel like talking about it.”

“Why not?” Gintoki rested his chin in his hand. “I’m here all day. I won’t tell anyone else. Plus, there’s a high chance I’ll die when I go back to battle, so your secrets are safe with me.” He winked.

“Even so, why would I tell _you?”_ Hijikata finished the second stitch and started on the third. He was beginning to get a hang on suturing.

“I’m a good listener?” offered Gintoki. “It’s not as if there’s anyone else you can talk to about these things, is there? You’re too volatile to have friends.”

“And you’re too idiotic to have friends,” snapped Hijikata.

“Aw, c’mon. I have friends. Gin-san is very popular, I’ll have you know.”

“And where are your ‘friends?’ Did you leave them behind on the battlefield to die? You’re a deserter, aren’t you? How can you talk of friends if you’ve abandoned them?”

“I didn’t abandon them!” Gintoki’s playful voice was suddenly harsh, his expression stony. “I’m not a deserter. I’m here because… because I got lost.”

He wasn’t a good liar, and Hijikata could tell there was something Gintoki was hiding from him. However, he could also tell that even if he pressed, he would tell him nothing, so there was no point in asking further. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Thankfully, the sutures were almost done, and he was able to finish them in silence. He cleaned the stitches with clean water, and wrapped the bandages Kondo had given Gintoki the day before around his chest.

“Thanks,” Gintoki muttered, standing up. “You did a good job.” He was a couple centimeters taller than Hijikata, and he placed a hand on his head, ruffling his black hair almost affectionately.

“G- Get off!” Hijikata smacked his hand away irritably, ears red. Infuriatingly, Gintoki merely chuckled.

“Zura used to get mad when I played with his hair, too.” His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, they seemed like those of a living person and not a corpse’s. For the second time that day, Hijikata wondered who Zura was and why his chest tightened when Gintoki showed such an expression, and why he even cared in the first place.

* * *

 Hijikata spent most of the day bickering with Gintoki, heading back to the dojo when it began to get dark. Though he had only just met the man, he felt some sort of connection to him. He was annoying, loud, and uncouth, and he irritated Hijikata to no end, but despite this he felt something towards Gintoki that he hadn’t for anyone else before. What this was exactly he didn’t know yet, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out.

Lying in bed, his thoughts wandered to the events of that day. Gintoki was strong, well built and heavily muscled, but thin, as Hijikata had seen while he was bathing himself. His ribs were prominent, cheeks hollow.

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, trying to sleep, but images of Gintoki filtered through his mind, keeping him awake. His spine, raised like mountain ridges on his back. The gap between his thighs. The veins in his too-thin forearms.

“Fuck,” he cursed, and got up.

* * *

Hijikata had gone to the clearing so many times traveling there at night wasn’t a problem, he knew the way. Still, he had to be careful not to trip, carrying a plate of hurriedly-made _onigiri,_ rice balls, in one hand. It wasn’t great, but it could at least appease the hunger Gintoki must have been feeling.

He made it to the clearing, but it took him a while to find Gintoki. He was sleeping upright, leaning against a tree, clutching his sword, knees pulled to his chest. He was twitching slightly in his sleep, lips moving but Hijikata couldn’t make out any clear words, just small mutters. He set down the plate of _onigiri_ and knelt beside Gintoki’s sleeping form, shaking his shoulder gently.

Gintoki awoke with a start, eyes wild. In an instant, he had drawn his sword and pressed it to Hijikata’s throat.

“Who are you?” he barked, voice hoarse.

“I-” Hijikata croaked, staring down at the sword, frozen.

“Oh, it’s you,” sighed Gintoki before Hijikata could properly respond, sheathing his sword and leaning back against the tree. “Don’t scare me like that, Zura.”

“I’m not Zu-”

“I know, I know,” Gintoki interrupted. “‘It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,’ right?” He grinned. “I missed ya. What’re you doin’ here anyways? You should be back at the camp. You’ll break my cover if there’s too many of us.”

Hijikata was only able to stare at Gintoki. He had no idea what he was talking about.

“I got a bit lost, but I’m close to finding where they’re keeping him,” continued Gintoki. “So sit tight and wait for my signal. Okay?”

“...Sure…” Hijikata trailed off. “Eat your _onigiri,”_ he commanded, nodding towards the uneaten _onigiri._

Gintoki smiled, but his eyes were downcast. “You really haven’t changed. Still making _onigiri_ like always. Even in this war, I guess some things don’t change, huh?” He grabbed one and took a bite, chewing it slowly. “We’ll get Shouyou back,” he continued, mouth full of rice. He swallowed, took another bite. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. He nodded, more to convince himself than Hijikata. “He ain’t gonna die. I won’t let that happen.”

He finished the _onigiri_ in silence, eating with fervor as if he hadn’t had a meal in a while, which, Hijikata figured, he probably hadn’t. He even licked the solitary rice grains from his fingers, scanning the plate for leftovers, before leaning back against the tree and picking his sword back up, holding it to his chest as Hijikata had found him.

Hijikata stood up, preparing to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve as he turned away.

“Stay with me ‘till I fall asleep?” asked Gintoki, one red eye open.

Hijikata sighed, crouching back down next to him and leaning against the tree. “Fine,” he grumbled, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

Gintoki hummed happily and ran his fingers through Hijikata’s hair, bringing a lock of black hair to his lips. “Thanks, Zura,” he said, and kissed the strands of hair before releasing it and letting it fall back to Hijikata’s shoulder. Hijikata felt his heart skip a beat, even though he knew it was not him Gintoki was addressing.

“I’m not Zura, I’m-” he began to say, but fell short. Even if it was only for a little while, he didn’t mind being Zura, if he got to experience this side of Gintoki. He reached a hand out tentatively and stroked Gintoki’s hair, the silver curls surprisingly soft and feathery.

“Go to sleep,” he said, and Gintoki obliged.


	2. White Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijikata and Gintoki get into a fight. Meanwhile, it becomes apparent that Gintoki's presence in Bushuu is not unknown to the enemy.

Hijikata managed to slip out of practices the next afternoon, a little after one, and made his way back to the area where Gintoki had been the previous day. He felt a little guilty for having pretended to be Zura the previous night, but reconciled with himself that there wasn’t anything else he could have done in such a situation. When he got to the clearing, however, Gintoki was missing, and all traces of him having being there had disappeared.

He should feel relieved, he knew that, yet all he felt was disappointment rising in the pit of his stomach. Gintoki had promised to fight him today, and Hijikata had spent the morning practicing, doing hundreds of repetitions of sword swings to prepare. Despite the irritation he felt when conversing with Gintoki, he had been looking forward to seeing him again.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, Gintoki burst into the clearing through the trees behind him, breathing heavily. His face and hair was covered with mud. There were leaves and sticks in his hair, and his clothes were brown from dirt.

“What the hell was Zura thinking,” he was muttering to himself, “sending the guy with white hair to do recon?” He fell silent when he saw Hijikata, glancing over his shoulder at the brush from which he had just emerged before heading over to him.

“You’re filthy,” Hijikata remarked, wrinkling his nose. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Gintoki plopped to the ground, catching his breath.

“Are you spying on someone?” Hijikata asked.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Why not.”

Gintoki tapped his lips with his index finger. “It’s a se-cret,” he sang. Yawning loud and wide, he stretched his arms and lay down, hands folded behind his head.

“Aren’t we gonna fight today?” asked Hijikata.

Gintoki stuck out his tongue, closing his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said.

“Boring.”

“Then leave if you want.”

Hijikata did not leave. He sat down in the grass next to Gintoki, listening to the rush of the nearby river and watching his chest slowly rise and fall.

“Hey,” Gintoki spoke up after a couple minutes, opening one eye and fixing Hijikata with a steady gaze. “Gimme your lap.”

_“Huh?”_

“Gimme your lap,” Gintoki repeated. “To use as a pillow.”

“No way. You stink.”

“So you’ll just let the poor, injured soldier sleep on the hard ground without the comfort of a lap as a pillow?” Gintoki feigned surprise.

“Yeah. You stink.”

Gintoki _tsk_ ed. “So heartless.”

“Clean yourself and I might reconsider.”

“Really?” Gintoki raised an eyebrow. He sat up with a groan, massaging his injured shoulder. He shrugged off his shirt, exposing his back wound. It appeared to have bled through his bandages slightly and the area surrounding it was a little inflamed, but otherwise looked okay, as far as Hijikata could see with the bandages obscuring most of the view. Gintoki kicked off his shoes and peeled off his _tabi,_ stepping out of his pants and standing up. Now naked with the exception of a white _fundoshi,_ he waded into the river, shivering and hugging his arms to his chest in the cool water. He washed himself in the same way he had the previous day, and this time Hijikata noticed he was favoring his injured shoulder. Though his face resembled a mask, devoid of emotion, he was obviously in pain.

“Why don’t you take some painkillers?” Hijikata asked, raising his voice so Gintoki could hear him over the rush of the river.

“I’m fine,” Gintoki called back, splashing water on his face. “I don’t take ‘em.”

“That’s stupid. Why be in pain when you don’t have to?”

“Pain helps ya fight. If someone attacks me when I can’t feel anything, how’m I supposed to know where I’m hurt and how to fight back? It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all.”

Hijikata opened his mouth to answer, but found himself unable to find the right words with which to reply. He had never even considered that painkillers could be a fatal hindrance in battle, yet to Gintoki it was mere common sense. With the way he spoke, and the way he moved- always careful, on high alert, his sword never far from where he could easily reach it if need be- and his body, covered in scars, Hijikata got the impression that he had been fighting for a lot longer than the war had been going on.

Hijikata’s brow furrowed in thought. There was something strange about Gintoki- the way he fought, a crude mixture of rough street fighting and honed, skilled swordsmanship; the way he slept, upright, clinging to his sword as if he expected to be attacked at any moment; the way he ate with a fervor, like any meal could be his last. As much as he would like for Hijikata to believe it, there was no way Gintoki was just an average soldier. He was something much, much more fearsome.

“Finished!” Gintoki clambered out of the river, shaking his head back and forth, water droplets splattering from his silver mess of hair. He shivered, rubbing his arms quickly with his hands to generate heat. “Now you gotta hold up your end of the bargain.”

Hijikata _tsk_ ed, turning his head to the side. He hadn’t expected Gintoki to actually wash himself, but now he figured he had no choice. “Put some clothes on first,” he said, feeling his face grow warm.

“Picky, picky.” Gintoki pulled on his robe, and though he tried to hide it, Hijikata saw him wince slightly.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your shoulder.” Hijikata nodded towards the bloody bandages wrapped around his shoulder and chest.

“Nah,” Gintoki lied. “Doesn’t hurt at all.” Yet when he lay down, head resting in Hijikata’s lap, he did so gingerly, as if easing himself into the motion.

Hijikata hadn’t really expected him to tell the truth, but his obvious lie still stung slightly. Did Gintoki not trust him? Or was his pride or ego just too big to admit that he was in pain? He wished it was the latter, but suspected the former. It shouldn’t bother him: for all he knew, Gintoki would leave tomorrow and he’d never see him again, but nevertheless, it hurt.

 _“I wish you didn’t feel like you have to lie to me,”_ he wanted to say. _“I wish you could learn to trust me.”_

“Your hair’s wet,” he said instead, toying with a few damp silver strands.

Gintoki opened one eye. “Don’t complain,” he said. “You’re the one who made me wash it.”

“That’s because you stank.”

“ _You_ stink.”

“I do not stink! _You-”_

Gintoki sat up suddenly, startling Hijikata, interrupting their bickering.

“What is it?” Hijikata asked.

“You hear that?” Gintoki’s red eyes narrowed, his face fixed in intense concentration.

“Hear what?”

A crow cawed loudly. “That,” said Gintoki, and got up silently, eyes fixed on something on the opposite side of the river bank. Without averting his eyes, he padded over to the edge of the river, bending slightly and picking up a stone. He raised his arm, paused, and then threw it.

The stone soared through the air and collided with the head of a large, black crow. The bird dropped from its perch to the ground, dead.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Hijikata scrambled to his feet, but Gintoki ignored him, wading into the river, not bothering to remove his clothes. He approached the opposite bank and picked up the limp body of the crow.

“Hey!” yelled Hijikata, struggling to remove his shoes, preparing to follow Gintoki, but stopped when he heard the unmistakeable _snap_ of broken bones as Gintoki grasped the bird’s head and twisted its neck, confirming its death.

Slowly, Gintoki made his way back to the side of the river where Hijikata was now standing, frozen in shock. There was something off about the way he moved, Hijikata noticed, his body moving stiffly, jerkily, almost robotic, but his head limp, lolling from side to side on hunched shoulders. He held the dead crow upside-down by the legs, and, feeling a twisting in his gut, Hijikata realized he felt _afraid-_ afraid of Gintoki.

“Why- Why did you do that?!” Hijikata demanded as Gintoki approached him, head down, bird swinging lifelessly from his hand.

Gintoki sat down in the spot he had before, water spreading from his sodden clothes, turning the dirt to mud around him. “Don’t like crows,” he answered simply.

“But you didn’t have to _kill_ it!” He could feel himself becoming hysterical, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s just a crow! What’d a crow ever do to you?!”

“Just leave it. It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”

 _You wouldn’t understand, anyway._ The words pierced Hijikata’s chest like a knife. Anger bubbled up inside him like a pot boiling over, and though he fought to put a lid on it, it all came rushing out. In that moment, he hated Gintoki. He hated him for killing an innocent animal in cold blood. He hated him for not caring. He hated him for assuming he wouldn’t understand. But most of all, he hated him for pushing him away.

“Then _make_ me understand!” Hijikata grabbed Gintoki by the collar of his robes and pulled him towards himself. “How can you say it doesn’t matter? How can you not care? You just took an innocent life away for no reason at all!”

Gintoki raised his head slightly, just enough so Hijikata could see his eyes. They were empty, staring not _at_ Hijikata but _through_ him. “I’m a soldier,” he said, voice hollow. “I’ve killed hundreds of men. What makes you think I care about a _crow?”_

Rage consumed Hijikata. He released Gintoki from his grasp, throwing him back violently. Gintoki fell back on his right arm, and a shudder of pain ran through his body, but Hijikata was so angry he didn’t even care, stepping over and straddling him before punching him squarely in the face. He dropped to the ground limply and Hijikata struck him a second and a third time, hitting and hitting him until his knuckles were bruised and bloody. Gintoki made no move to block his blows, only lay there limply and let himself be hit, and this somehow vexed Hijikata even more.

“Why won’t you fight back?” he demanded, between blows. “Do you think I’m weak? Huh? Is that it?”

Gintoki spat out blood. He focused one weary eye on Hijikata, but said nothing.

“Answer me!” Hijikata punched Gintoki in the jaw, knocking his head sideways. “Say _something,_ dammit!” He raised his fist, readying another punch, but as he brought it down Gintoki reached up and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from completing the blow. He struggled against his grasp, arm shaking, but Gintoki was stronger than he was and he couldn’t move.

“That’s enough,” he said. “You’ll hurt your hands.”

“Let me go!” Hijikata attempted to wrestle his arm away, but Gintoki’s grip was steadfast.

“Do you wanna eat the crow?”

 _“Huh?”_ Hijikata was so stunned that he forgot his anger.

Gintoki sat up, Hijikata’s body shifting so that he was no longer sitting on his stomach but straddling his lap. He didn’t let go of Hijikata’s wrist.

“The crow. You want it?” He nodded to the crow’s corpse, laying next to them, head twisted at an angle. “I can’t build a fire to cook it, I’ll get spotted. So you should take it home and eat it.” He spoke so nonchalantly, as if the fact that Hijikata had just been punching the lights out of him didn’t faze him at all. He felt the rage that had blinded him only moments earlier ebbing away, gone as quickly as it came, replaced with morbid fascination and curiosity.

“W-Why would I wanna eat _crow?”_

Gintoki cocked his head to one side. “It’s not bad,” he said. “The taste is kinda gamey, and it’s got a lot of bones so it’s a pain to eat. The brain isn’t so bad, though.”

“You’ve eaten _brain?”_ Hijikata grimaced at the thought.

“You haven’t?”

“God, no.”

“It ain’t bad. Squirrel brain I like the best. Rabbit’s okay, too.”

“That’s fuckin’ nasty.”

“Nah, it’s good! Try it sometime. If I could build a fire, I’d catch a squirrel and cook it for ya.”

Hijikata made a face. “No, thanks.”

“Hey, hey, don’t refuse an offer made in good will! I’m a good cook. What sort of food do you like?”

“Mayonnaise,” answered Hijikata instantly.

“What? Mayonnaise isn’t a food.”

“Yes, it is! It’s the almighty condiment. It makes everything taste ten times better. You can eat it with tuna, with salad, on rice, on ramen-”

“On _ramen?”_ Gintoki mimed throwing up. “That’s disgusting- _you’re_ disgusting! The hell is wrong with you?”

“Says the guy who eats _brains!”_

“Better than mayonnaise on ramen, you freak!”

“I’m not a freak, you’re a freak!”

“No, you!”

And they went back to fighting, but this time it was different. This time, Gintoki fought back, although neither of them were really trying to hurt each other, it was just a way of venting frustration. This time, Hijikata didn’t feel quite so angry, so helpless. This time, Hijikata realized he was smiling, despite himself.

The emptiness had disappeared from Gintoki’s eyes, and he had returned to his normal self.

* * *

“What happened to your hands?”

Hijikata looked up, startled, from the meal he was eating. “Just had an accident,” he lied.

“You’re not getting into fights again, are you?” Kondo looked concerned. “You disappeared this afternoon, and yesterday, too.”

“It’s nothing.”

Kondo didn’t seem convinced, but he said nothing.

* * *

 

Okita Mitsuba approached Hijikata after dinner. “Let me see your hands,” she said simply, and he had no choice but to oblige. They sat together on the steps outside the dojo, facing the mountain trail below. The Tennen Rishin-Ryuu was located near the top of a mountain, and from the height at which they sat, the vast expanses of forest and farmland, differently colored squares separated by brown road, stretched before them. The sun was setting, sky streaked with brilliant hues of contrasting orange and pink. Shadows elongated, the waning sun bathing the scene in liquid gold. Mitsuba, more radiant than the scenery before her, seemed to glow from within. Her hair was flecked with gold, her teeth shining like diamonds.

Her cool fingers brushed over Hijikata’s own as she turned his hands over in hers, examining the scabs and bruises on his knuckles. She tutted softly as she worked. Hijikata could not bring himself to look at her, his stomach twisting in knots. He felt ashamed, as if he did not deserve to gaze upon her noble visage, for fear he might sully her.

What was he thinking, getting into a brawl with Gintoki over a dead crow? Part of him felt he had overreacted, yet part of him felt justified in attacking him. To take a life so nonchalantly, without remorse, what kind of person did that? Despite his youth and blasé demeanor, was Gintoki merely a cold-hearted killer? But then, why hadn’t he fought back when Hijikata was assailing him with fists? He could have easily bested Hijikata, yet he chose to lay there and take his blows peacefully. It was almost as if some small part of him agreed with Hijikata, as if he felt he deserved to be hurt for what he had done to the crow.

Why had Gintoki even killed the crow in the first place? The only explanation he had offered was that he “didn’t like crows.” Mere dislike of an animal did not warrant its death, there had to be something more, something Gintoki wasn’t saying.

It felt sometimes, Hijikata reflected, as if Gintoki told more in what he didn’t say. He often babbled incessantly about trivial matters, but whenever Hijikata asked him something, he would deflect the question or change the subject. It made sense that Gintoki was secretive, having only known Hijikata for a few days, yet it irked him to no end.

“What are you thinking about?” Mitsuba’s voice interrupted Hijikata’s reverie and he blinked, not sure how to respond.

“Do you remember the soldier, from three days ago?” he asked.

“The white-haired man?”

“What was your impression of him?”

She cocked her head to the side, thinking. “Well,” she started, hand to her chin, “I didn’t really interact with him. But from what I saw, he seemed… hollow.”

“Hollow?” Hijikata frowned slightly. That wasn’t what he had been expecting at all.

“Hollow,” confirmed Mitsuba. “And lonely. Lonely, but kind.” She gazed at the fields below them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He gave the impression of someone who has lost something very important, something so important it took away a part of them and left them hollow. Someone who will stop at nothing to get back that important something, to be whole again.”

“H- How did you get all that just from watching him?” Hijikata asked, awed. “He was only here for a few hours.”

She smiled bashfully. “He reminded me of someone.”

“Who?”

She looked Hijikata straight in the eye, and something tightened in his chest, as if invisible constraints had wrapped themselves around his heart. “You.”

_“What?”_

“When you first got here, you were a lot like him,” she said, chuckling slightly at his reaction. “You fought like an animal, and had a wild look in your eyes. People called you Thorny Hijikata, remember?”

“Yeah, but… I’m not like _him._ He- he’s loud, annoying, uncouth- we’re not similar at all. _”_

“You speak as if you know him.” Mitsuba raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“T-That’s- I- I don’t know him! I, er-” sputtered Hijikata, face growing red.

“Don’t worry,” Mitsuba smiled, placing a hand over one of Hijikata’s. “I won’t tell. I figured as much, seeing as how you keep disappearing lately. Just be careful.”

“I…” Hijikata hung his head. “Sorry. Thank you.”

“Now, let’s get your hands fixed up, shall we?”

* * *

Perhaps in an effort to keep Hijikata out of whatever trouble Kondo thought him in after seeing his bruised knuckles the previous night, he was sent into the nearby village to run groceries for the dojo, accompanied by none other than Okita Mitsuba. The path down the mountain was tricky, and she held tightly onto his arm during the hike, causing him to trip and stumble several times over the duration of their trip, as his focus was obviously elsewhere.

“Are you feeling alright?” Mitsuba asked him when they reached the foot of the mountain. “You’ve been kind of distracted, and your face is red. Don’t tell me you have a fever?”

“I-I’m fine!” Hijikata insisted. “Worry about yourself- your lungs-”

“My lungs are fine,” Mitsuba said. She smiled slightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling pleasantly. “But thank you for thinking of me. I’m flattered.”

“I wasn’t-” Hijikata fell short, ears red. He looked away and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

* * *

 

Hijikata stood, tapping his foot impatiently, holding a large array of bags and parcels, as Mitsuba haggled with the shop owner. It wasn’t that he disliked having to go grocery shopping or spending time with Mitsuba; on the contrary, he generally looked forward to the times when he was able to be alone with her, even if it was just accompanying her to town or holding her bags for her.

However, today he couldn’t seem to relax. He kept thinking about Gintoki, wondering what he was doing, all alone in the forest. Was his wound healing? Had he eaten anything? Was he bored without Hijikata? What if he thought that Hijikata was snubbing him because of the ordeal with the crow? This troubled Hijikata immensely. It shouldn’t matter to him what a random enemy soldier in the woods thought of him, but then again, Gintoki was no longer just a random soldier. Hijikata wasn’t entirely sure _what_ Gintoki was to him, but he was more than a stranger. Not a friend, per say, but not an enemy either.

Around Gintoki, he felt strangely at ease, as if he were free to be himself with no consequences. He could say what he liked, do what he liked, without concern for how it might affect his future or his reputation or the dojo, for Gintoki was not connected to any of these. He was an outlier, an abnormality: by all reasonable feats of logic he should not be there, a lone Joui soldier camped out in the woods of rural Bushuu, miles away from the war, yet there he was. Perhaps it was this aspect of Gintoki which so enticed Hijikata: the thrilling _otherness_ of it all; or perhaps it was simply Gintoki himself who enraptured him such, commanded his attention completely and unequivocally.

Hijikata had long since abandoned his dojo-challenging, teenage hoodlum ways that had branded him the name Thorny Hijikata; he had more-or-less settled in at the dojo despite his loner tendencies, and was no longer permitted to start or engage in fights with students from other dojos, instead focusing his frustration completely on improving his swordsmanship. He had no qualms or complaints with this sort of lifestyle, he was happy where he was, yet sometimes he got an itch, a craving of sorts: for excitement, for danger, for violence. He never allowed himself to scratch that itch, he had far too much to lose, yet the itch persisted. He was able to ignore it by throwing himself even more furiously into his practice, by enveloping himself completely with parries and blocks and thrusts of his wooden sword until sweat ran down his skin in rivulets, soaking into his _gi_ and purifying him from the inside-out, but it was never quite enough. Nothing was ever _enough_ \- until Gintoki came.

Gintoki was the danger he had been craving. He was different- everything about him was _different-_ his hair, the way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he ate, the way he fought, the way he _was-_ Hijikata had never met someone like him before and within a couple days of knowing him he was changed forever. He wanted to learn about him, about his life- what he knew and how he knew it, where he’d been and why, what he was doing in Bushuu and why- there was so much he wanted to know it _ached._ Yet Gintoki was, as always, infuriatingly ambiguous and opaque. He deliberately avoided Hijikata’s questions, and if forced to reply would give vague, monosyllabic responses that answered nothing. Perhaps it was unwise to hope for answers after only knowing him for a few days, but Hijikata couldn’t help being curious and every question Gintoki dodged only raised dozens more in its place.

A group of monks passed by the stall outside which Hijikata was waiting. Idly he watched them- clad in deep grays and blacks, hats obscuring their faces, they carried staffs which jangled as they walked. They appeared to be completely normal monks, and for all Hijikata knew, they were, but there was something strange about the way they moved- stiffly, almost as if they were marching, like soldiers- that piqued his attention and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“...Can’t hold him prisoner for much longer,” Hijikata overheard one of them say. “Resources are drying up fast.”

Hijikata frowned, keeping his head lowered so his face was not seen. What sort of monks held prisoners? There was definitely something strange about them.

“And there’s the matter of that rat that’s been poking around,” a slightly taller one replied.

“Huh? Rat?” The shorter one wheezed as he was suddenly elbowed in the ribs.

“The white-haired rat. _You know,”_ hissed the taller one. “Sniffing around for his master. We’ve got to get rid of them both.”

Something cold spread throughout Hijikata’s body, as if he had swallowed a ball of ice. _White-haired rat._ He had suspected Gintoki was up to something for a while- after all, there was no way he was simply lost when Bushuu was miles away from the front. He was an idiot, but he wasn’t _that_ dumb. He had talked in his sleep the night Hijikata had brought him _onigiri-_ mistaking him for Zura, he had told him that he was “close to finding where they were keeping him” and that he’d “blow his cover” if there were too many of them. He had a bad habit of talking to himself when he thought no one was listening, too- just the other day he had mumbled something about being sent to do recon. From what Hijikata could tell, it appeared as if Gintoki was hiding out in the forest while doing reconnaissance, trying to find a man called Shouyou. Whether the prisoner the monks were talking about was Shouyou and whether the white-haired rat was Gintoki or just a rat, Hijikata did not know, but he intended to find out.

Leaving Mitsuba haggling with the produce stall owner, Hijikata slipped away under the pretense of going to the bathroom and discreetly followed the monks at a distance. He could only make out snippets of their conversation, but getting closer to hear better would be too risky.

“...Move the execution,” a third monk was saying. “Go back to the battlefield… if they’re all here, they won’t be able to stop it there.”

“Keep a decoy prisoner here,” agreed the short monk. “...Move the real prisoner back during the night.”

A large gust of wind blew, knocking some of the monks’ hats astray. As the tall one adjusted his hat, Hijikata glimpsed a small black tattoo on the back of his neck. He squinted, trying to make out the shape, and noticed the same tattoo on the wrist of the short monk. The third monk also seemed to have one, the edge of the tattoo poking out above his collarbone.

The tattoo was simple- a small black crow, wings outstretched, as if taking flight. With a flash, Gintoki’s statement from the day before ran through Hijikata’s mind:

_“Don’t like crows.”_

The appearance of the tattoo and Gintoki’s bizarre, murderous dislike of crows had to be connected, reasoned Hijikata. If so, then the “white rat” the monks were discussing must be Gintoki. Hijikata quickened his pace, trying to get closer to the monks without arousing suspicion.

“...the rat?” the short monk asked. “The decoy prisoner won’t work with him watching us.”

“Set up traps,” advised the tall monk. “That’s the best way to get rid of a rat.”

“Mines?” suggested the short monk.

“No,” mused the tall monk, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We’ll need the body intact. Nothing’s worse for morale than parading your leader’s head on a spike- if we get him, we get the entire faction. Besides, that’s too quick a death for the likes of him- no, he’ll get a slow, painful end like he deserves.”

“How about arrows laced with a paralyzing agent? He’ll feel everything but won’t be able to move.”

“Maybe,” the tall monk muttered. “I like the way you think. But let’s discuss this some other time. Someone could be listening.”

“As if there’s anyone in this backwoods country village who cares what happens to a Joui _rat,”_ the short monk scoffed, but fell quiet all the same.

* * *

 

Hijikata watched the group of monks until they were completely gone, heart pounding in his chest. He could feel his legs trembling, knees knocking together just as they had when he had first witnessed Gintoki defeat Sougo several days earlier. Cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck, and it was a moment before he was able to move, remembering he had left Mitsuba at the produce stall. He ran back to her, grabbing the bags and her arm.

“We gotta go,” he said, trying to hide the panic in his voice. He was afraid she might refuse, or protest, but she took one look at his face and nodded silently, finishing her transaction and taking Hijikata’s arm as they headed swiftly back up the mountain towards the dojo.

“What happened?” she asked, voice hushed. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

“I…” Hijikata opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what to tell her, or _if_ he could tell her- getting her involved could put her in danger and if any harm ever came to her, he knew he would never be able to live with himself afterwards. She was far too precious, too special.

“It has to do with the soldier, right?” Mitsuba smiled. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Just be careful.”

“I will,” Hijikata promised, his heart swelled with gratitude and appreciation, and he knew he loved her like no one else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! My goal is to update at least every two weeks, if not sooner. I know this is starting out slow but it'll pick up soon, I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. I'll Be Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gintoki and Hijikata meet up one last time before Gintoki returns to war, and Hijikata discovers an unwelcome truth about himself.

Hijikata tore through the forest, his feet carrying him as fast as they could manage. He had to reach Gintoki as soon as possible and warn him of the dangers he faced. It was nearing dusk, and the waning light that penetrated the dense foliage appeared silver. The chirping and clicking of insects grew louder as the evening light dimmed, swirling about in a cacophony of sound.

“Sakata-san!” he called out, panting. He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Sakata-san!”

“Over here! And keep your voice down, idiot!” Hijikata followed Gintoki’s voice to a spot below a large pine tree, where he was sitting cross-legged. A pile of leaves were gathered next to him, and he took a couple leaves from the pile, stuck them in his mouth, chewed for a moment, and then spat a green chunky mixture into a bowl in his lap.

“Thought I told ya to call me Gin,” he said, spitting into the bowl. He made a face. “This shit tastes nasty. You wanna help?”

“No time for that- listen, I gotta tell you something-”

“Yeah, sure, but first, could ya put some of this on my back? I can’t reach. It’ll make it heal faster.”

“No, _listen,_ idiot, this is important!”

“I’ll listen to your coming-out story later, Hijikata-kun. First, I need to get this on my back and my elbows don’t exactly bend backwards, you see? I’ll chew the leaves, you start slapping it on, understand?” Gintoki grabbed another handful of leaves, sticking some in his mouth and beginning to chew.

“I’m serious, this is important! Stop chewing leaves and _listen!”_ Hijikata hissed, losing his patience. “I saw some monks in town today and they were suspicious-”

“All monks are suspicious. Organized religion is a scam,” Gintoki interrupted, spitting into the bowl.

“Shut up!” Hijikata brought his fist down on the top of Gintoki’s head. “I followed them and overheard them talking about a _white rat_ who’s been spying on them. That’s you, isn’t it?”

For once, Gintoki said nothing, only narrowed his eyes and stared blankly at Hijikata. His face was empty, cleverly devoid of emotion, and did nothing to give away what he was really thinking.

“You’re a spy, aren’t you?” pressed Hijikata, desperate for an answer. “They were talking about the execution of a prisoner- the rat’s master. Is that the Shouyou you mentioned?”

The air between them grew deathly still. Gintoki continued to stare emotionlessly at Hijikata, his red eyes dull. Silence proliferated- the insects ceased their chirping, the wind grew still, the leaves stopped rustling. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath.

“Are you going to turn me in, then?” whispered Gintoki.

Hijikata said nothing. He did not know what to say, or if there was a right thing to say, and if there was, he did not know how to say it. To say he had not expected this would be a gross understatement- while mulling over the possible responses to confronting Gintoki about his being a spy, him simply giving up and allowing himself to be turned in had not been one of them. It was almost disappointing, in a way- Hijikata had hoped for some answers, an explanation maybe, not _this._

“I…” He trailed off.

Gintoki lowered his head. “It’s fine,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “Here.” He presented his wrists to be bound silently, face hidden from view.

“Wait- I’m not-”

“Hurry up,” Gintoki commanded, his voice stony. “Before I change my mind. I don't want to fight you.”

“I’m not turning you in.”

“Huh?” Gintoki looked up, startled. “Why the hell not? You understand that by not turning me in, you’re betraying your own country? You’ll be a traitor.”

“I don’t see how that’s changed since I first met you. I didn’t turn you in then, and I’m not turning you in now.”

Gintoki frowned. “I don’t get it. Why are you helping me?”

Hijikata paused. Why _was_ he helping Gintoki? After all, Gintoki was right- now knowing that he was a spy, he was actively betraying the Bakufu by not turning him in. If it ever got out that he had helped him, he could be killed. Yet, for some reason, he was not afraid. He felt that if he did not help Gintoki now, he would regret it for the rest of his life. It was better to die young without regrets, Hijikata figured, than to live a long life full of them.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said finally, tossing his hair haughtily over his shoulder. “I’m just keeping you alive until I can fight you and reclaim my dojo’s honor. That’s all.”

Gintoki stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what Hijikata was saying. Hijikata met his gaze, puffing out his chest in an effort to appear more confident and self-assured than he actually was, but it didn’t seem to work, for after a minute Gintoki turned his head and laughed to himself. “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “I’m sure the ladies just _love_ you.”

Hijikata smirked slightly. “More than you, ya shitty perm.”

“You leave my hair out of this!” Gintoki grabbed Hijikata’s ponytail and yanked, hard.

“Hey! That hurt!”

“That’s for insulting my gorgeous, curly locks.” Gintoki huffed, sticking out his lower lip like a petulant child.

“‘Gorgeous, curly locks?’” repeated Hijikata incredulously. “Don’t make me laugh. You call that ratty bird’s nest on top of your head ‘gorgeous?’”

“You’re just jealous of my good looks.” Gintoki crossed his arms, settling down a little. “So,” he started. “What did the monks say?”

Hijikata told him and for once Gintoki listened quietly, his brow furrowing in thought as he talked.

“So they’re taking him back to the battlefield,” he muttered, once Hijikata had finished. “That means I’ll have to get there before they do.” He twisted a stray curl around his index finger absentmindedly as he thought, the silver strands of hair gleaming in the fading rays of light slitting through the foliage. “It’ll take them longer to get there because they have a whole party of people, so I should get there in time if I leave tomorrow morning.”

“How far away is it?” Hijikata asked. Gintoki looked up, stunned, as if he hadn’t realized that he had been listening.

“A couple days,” he answered tentatively. “Depends on the weather.”

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. Before the sun.”

“I see.” Hijikata racked his brain for things to say, but couldn’t seem to find anything. “Here,” he said eventually. “Lemme see your back. I’ll put your salve on for ya.”

Silently Gintoki turned, presenting his bare back to Hijikata. Lifting one arm slightly, he unwound the bandages from his chest and shoulder, exposing his wound. It had healed slightly and didn’t look quite so red as it had before, but the area around it was inflamed slightly. Dipping two fingers into the salve Gintoki had made, Hijikata coated them with the green, sticky substance and applied it liberally to the top of the wound. Gintoki hissed between his teeth as the salve made contact with the cut, but apart from that, said nothing.

He was unusually quiet, and it bothered Hijikata. Though he’d never admit it, he much preferred the childlike, irritating Gintoki, always blathering on about meaningless subjects, to the silent, morose Gintoki he faced now. He wondered what had brought about this sudden change in mood, and if there was anything he could do to alleviate it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, applying the salve along Gintoki’s shoulder blade.

He shook his head. “‘S fine,” he mumbled, deep in thought.

Perhaps being faced with the prospect of returning to war was causing Gintoki to become sullen, Hijikata thought. To go to war was a venerable service, he had been taught, and to die for your country was the greatest honor of all. But those who returned from war returned in disgrace. “Those who don’t die on the battlefield are cursed to remain there forever,” he had once heard someone say, and Hijikata wondered how true that statement was. Observing Gintoki, his posture, his expression, the dead look in his eyes, it sometimes seemed that while his body was with Hijikata in Bushuu, his mind was still at war, roaming the battlefield like a lone demon.

“What is war like?” Hijikata spread salve over a particularly inflamed area. He was reminded of how he had asked Gintoki various questions while stitching up his back, just a couple days ago. It was only a few days, but it seemed so long ago, like he had been a completely different person then from how he was now.

“Huh? What sorta question is that?”

“What is it like?” Hijikata repeated. “Tell me. I want to know.”

Gintoki slumped forward slightly. Hijikata could feel him stiffen under his fingertips, his broad shoulders hunching as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

“No, you don’t.”

In that moment, Gintoki appeared not as a man, a hardened soldier, a killer; but as a child, a lost boy, alone and desolate. It was then Hijikata realized that he _was_ a child- though he seemed so much older, he was the same age as him. For some reason, this made Hijikata feel terribly lonely. He was possessed with the bizarre desire to cling to Gintoki’s scarred back, to wrap his arms around his hunched shoulders and never let go, to embrace him fully and deeply.

Hijikata’s fingers trembled. He hesitated- Gintoki was right there in front of him, back exposed- if he wanted, Hijikata could embrace him as he desired, could hold him, could touch him. The desire grew, bubbling inside him, coursing through his veins.

 _I’m sorry. I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. _I’m sorry. I want to hold you._

“Do you have to go back?” he asked instead.

Gintoki withdrew his arms to his chest as if he were cold, though it was a warm night. “Yes,” he answered.

“You could- you could stay here,” Hijikata blurted. _You could stay here with me._ “You could join our dojo- I’m sure Kondo wouldn’t mind. You can teach me how to fight. You said you’d cook for me someday- you could do that, if you stayed-”

“I can’t stay.” Gintoki cut through Hijikata’s fervent rambling.

“Why not?” _Why not? Do you hate me that much?_

“My friends would die.”

“Aren’t you thinking a little highly of yourself?” _Aren’t I your friend?_

“No. They would die without me.” Gintoki gripped his arms tightly, nails digging into his flesh.

“Do you want to go back?” _Do you want to leave me?_

A pause. Then, “I don’t know.” Gintoki’s nails broke the skin, small crescents of blood bubbling out from the cuts.

Hijikata knew he was being unfair, he knew he was upsetting Gintoki, but once he started he couldn’t seem to stop. “Then why are you fighting? Your side is losing- it’s only a matter of time before the war ends. If you don’t die in battle you’ll get executed after-”

“You think I don’t know that?” interrupted Gintoki, his voice harsh. “Look, nothing you can say or do is gonna make me stay. Either accept that and move on, or get the hell out.”

The brusque tone of Gintoki’s voice, the roughness of his words hurt like a blow to the chest and Hijikata stood up abruptly, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Fine,” he said, filling the word with as much anger and vitriol as he could. “Die, then. See if I care.”

He turned on his heel and stomped off, the leaves littering the forest floor crunching under his feet. He half hoped for Gintoki to call out to him, to say something, _anything,_ but he remained silent. Hijikata felt a stabbing pain in his chest, increasing with each step he took away from Gintoki’s listless form but he continued to walk stubbornly, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes.

* * *

Hijikata tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. Plagued with guilt over his previous interaction with Gintoki, thoughts ran through his mind and a rapid pace and though he tried feverishly to sort through them, he was overwhelmed.

How could he have let his emotions get the better of him and interrogate Gintoki so cruelly? Wasn’t one of the facets of his training as a samurai to always remain calm and collected? And what exactly was it that he had felt earlier, while applying the salve to Gintoki’s back? What did it mean?

Thinking about Gintoki- his body, that hard, muscled back and toned abdomen- caused a great warmth to grow in Hijikata’s stomach, billowing throughout the rest of his body, an unbearable heat. The desire to embrace Gintoki, to hold him- Hijikata had never experienced such a feeling so strongly before, not even with Mitsuba. When he thought of Mitsuba, he thought of her soft, kind demeanor and the great poise and elegance with which she conducted herself. He loved and respected these qualities, and in turn loved her, but the thought of her elicited no physical response at all; whereas when he thought back to the image of Gintoki, clad in his white _fundoshi,_ bare body wet and glistening in the midday sun…

Hijikata rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in his lower half. While the other boys in the dojo spoke fondly of the town girls, enamored with their soft chests and buttocks, Hijikata could only think of a hardened abdomen, the rough hands of a swordsman, a strong jawline. He had never really been troubled by these thoughts before now, figuring it was simply because he had yet to meet a woman who he really liked, but now after encountering Gintoki, he wasn’t sure that was the case. There was something wrong with him, he concluded. He didn’t entirely know _what_ yet _,_ just that he was different, and that scared him. What would Kondo think if he found out? What would he say? Would he be disgusted?

It wasn’t unheard of. Hijikata had met and fought several _wakashu_ before, and he had heard that in Edo’s Yoshiwara and other sanctioned prostitution areas, _kagema_ were very popular, drawing in a large crowd of clientele, the majority of which were samurai. But here in the country, such things were not as common and there was a higher possibility that if anyone found out, it could potentially ruin Hijikata’s future life and career.

Hijikata sighed, rolling onto his side and hugging his pillow. He had been unnecessarily cruel to Gintoki earlier, he realized. Though he desperately did not want to apologize, the idea of Gintoki leaving with Hijikata’s last words to him being “die” left a bad taste in his mouth. He decided to wake up early and go see him one last time before he left.

With that, Hijikata closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Hijikata made it to the clearing a little after five in the morning. His mind was cloudy with sleep and he had yet to wipe away the sleep dust that had accumulated in the corners of his eyes, but he was determined to say goodbye to Gintoki.

He didn’t see him at first, and thought that perhaps he had left already, but then a branch above him rustled and he looked up, only to have a foot collide painfully with his face.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Gintoki’s voice echoed out from the leaves of the tree. “You change your mind about wanting me to die?”

“I had,” grumbled Hijikata, rubbing his nose where Gintoki’s heel had hit it, “But then some asshole in a tree kicked me.” He grabbed Gintoki’s ankle, dangling by his forehead, and pulled, causing him to tumble out of the tree. He landed on the dirt with a _thump._

“The fuck you do that for?” complained Gintoki, rubbing his sore behind with one hand. “Have pity on the poor, injured soldier, will ya?”

“You kicked me in the face.” Hijikata placed his hands on his hips, glaring defiantly down at Gintoki.

“No, your face just happened to hit my foot. _I’m_ the victim here.”

“Victim of what? Congenital stupidity?”

“You leave my genitals out of this! My mini Gin-chan works just fine, I’ll have you know!”

“That’s not what congenital means, idiot!” Hijikata groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stuck out his hand, looking away. “Here,” he said, the tips of his ears red. “Just get up, will ya?”

Gintoki stared at him blankly for a second, then took his hand and yanked him down to the ground.

“That’s for pulling me out of the tree.” He smirked, watching Hijikata angrily brush dirt off his pants.

“Idiot,” he muttered, brow furrowed in irritation.

“Asshole,” replied Gintoki, but there was a lightness to his voice. He continued to watch Hijikata, almost mournfully, as if he were trying to capture as much of him as he could before he had to leave; but Hijikata, fussing over the dirt embedded in the cloth of his pants, did not notice. By the time he looked up, the expression was gone, replaced with Gintoki’s usual blank, unreadable, mask of a face.

“So,” he said, voice piercing in the stillness of early morning. “What’d you come here for?”

“To say goodbye, of course.” Giving up on cleaning his pants, Hijikata edged closer to Gintoki, leaning against the trunk of the tree he had fallen from. Gintoki did the same, resting his head against the bark next to him and pulling his knees to his chest, clutching his sword with both hands.

“Why?”

“What sort of question is that? Because I wanted to, obviously.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re a pain in the ass.” Hijikata gave a rare half-smile, one corner of his mouth tilting upwards.

“I could say the same about you.”

“You have. Several times.”  

“Guess that makes us even, then.”

“No way.” Hijikata shook his head. “You still haven’t fought me like you promised, remember? Fight me, and when I beat you, _then_ we’ll be even.”

“Didn’t I tell you? You’re a hundred years too early to beat me,” Gintoki scoffed, his grip tightening around his sword slightly.

“Then I’ll wait a hundred years.”

Gintoki turned to look at Hijikata, surprised. “You-” he began to say, but Hijikata cut him off.

“I’ll wait a hundred years,” continued Hijikata. “I may lose a thousand times. But in the end, I’ll win eventually. And then we’ll be even. So you better come back, Sakata-san, so I can beat you. A hundred years and a thousand losses won’t keep me away from you.” He smiled slightly, silver moonlight pooling in his eyes. “You’ve been warned.”

Gintoki stared at him for a minute, eyes wide, mouth open slightly in surprise. Then he blinked, and slowly a grin stretched across his face until he was smiling so wide his eyes were mere slits of red. A chuckle tumbled out of his mouth, followed by another, then another, until he was laughing so hard his entire body shook with delight. “Damn,” he grinned, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You really are a pain in the ass, Hijikata-kun.”

He stood up, yawning, and stretched, cracking his neck. “I’d better be off,” he said, bending slightly and grabbing his sword, placing it securely on his hip. He made to leave, and then paused, turning to face Hijikata, who remained sitting on the ground beneath the tree.

“Here,” Gintoki said, unattaching a small pouch from his waist and tossing it at Hijikata’s feet. “Almost forgot.”

“What is it?” Hijikata reached over and took it, opening the drawstring and peering inside. Several _mon, sen,_ and even a few _ryo_ coins glinted inside. “This is-”

“Your dojo’s money. I ended up not being able to spend it, because I couldn’t let anyone see me. So I’m letting you have it back. Keep it for me, alright? I’ll be wanting it when I return.”

With that, Gintoki turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Gintoki!” Hijikata called after him, stumbling to his feet. “You better not die!”

Gintoki waved one hand lazily in response. Hijikata watched him as he departed, until he was swallowed up completely by the trees and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Gintoki smiled to himself. “He said my name,” he murmured under his breath, audible only to himself. A squirrel chattered at him angrily as he passed underneath its nest and he looked up at it. “He finally said my name,” he told the squirrel, and grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a shorter chapter this time, as the next chapter is gonna be kinda long. This concludes the first part of the story, and the second part will begin in the next chapter, set several years later in the Gintama-verse as we know it. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who leave kudos or comment, it really makes me happy and inspires me to keep writing! I hope you all will continue to enjoy this story!


	4. Second Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While pursuing the rebel Katsura Kotarou, Hijikata meets Gintoki again, ten years after their first encounter.

A year and a half passed, and the war ended. The Amanto won, as everyone had expected. Many lost their lives, on both sides of the war, but the Joui rebels lost an exceptional amount of men. Entire generations were wiped out; fathers losing their sons, sisters losing their brothers, wives losing their husbands. The few survivors were rounded up and executed, their heads displayed as a clear warning to those who might harbor similar resentments towards the new government. 

Two years passed, and Gintoki hadn’t returned, but then again, his head didn’t seem to be displayed anywhere, either. At the beginning of the year, Hijikata visited the clearing every day, stomping through snow to practice by the stream, now covered with ice; but by the time the snow melted and green buds began to sprout, he was visiting only once a week; and when the green buds bloomed into flowers and the sun loomed overhead, the stream running full of plump fish, he visited a couple times a month.

When the leaves of trees turned red and yellow, and the air grew crisp and chill, a man from the bakufu, Matsudaira Katakuriko, visited the Tennen Rishin-Ryuu and proposed an offer. A rudimentary police force for the new Japan, comprised of  _ ronin, _ would be formed, with Kondo Isao at the helm. They were to be called the Roshigumi, and serve the Tokugawa bakufu. 

By then, Hijikata had turned eighteen. He had grown tall, taller than Kondo even, and his long black hair cascaded down his back, tied into a ponytail to keep out of his face while he was training. He had gained a slight reputation due to his handsomeness, and every time he left the seclusion of the dojo to visit the town he was swarmed by girls, clamoring for his affections, though they would always leave disappointed when he snubbed them entirely, choosing instead to remain alone or with the company of Okita Mitsuba. 

During this time he became incredibly close to Mitsuba, but this companionship also caused Hijikata a great deal of despair. He loved her dearly, he really did, but knew he could never make her happy. The danger, the excitement, the violence he craved in his life would only bring harm and ruin to her should she choose to stay with him; and moreover, there was the matter that although Hijikata loved her as a person- emotionally, spiritually, indubitably- he could never love her as a woman, physically, as she wanted. 

And so, when Kondo asked Hijikata to join the newly formed Roshigumi and accompany him to Edo, Hijikata accepted. Mitsuba begged him to take her with him, but he declined. Though it caused him pain, he knew that his new job would be risky and should any harm come to her, he could never forgive himself. She would forget him in time, he told himself. She’d find someone else in Bushuu, someone who could make her truly happy in the way Hijikata never could. It hurt deeply, but at the time, he firmly believed it was for the best. 

Three years after Gintoki left Bushuu, Hijikata Toushirou left for Edo with Kondo Isao, Okita Sougo, and some other pupils from the dojo. Mitsuba remained behind. Hijikata had to force himself not to turn around as he was leaving, and briefly wondered as he walked away if Gintoki had felt the same way when he, too, had left Hijikata. 

* * *

The first few years of the Roshigumi were rocky, filled with internal strife and meaningless bureaucracy. Yet from this strife the Shinsengumi were born, with Kondo at the helm and Hijikata as his vice-chief. He buried himself in work, taking up the habit of smoking to cope with the stress, but overall, he enjoyed his job immensely. The few surviving Joui rebels that hadn’t switched to the side of the bakufu after the war continued to fight against the Tokugawa bakufu, and terrorist attacks were increasing in both frequency and deadliness. A large portion of the terrorist attacks were instigated by a man called Katsura Kotarou, a survivor of the Joui war despite his young age. He was said to have been a master tactician during the war, and these rumors seemed to be true as he somehow always managed to escape capture. 

It was through chasing Katsura Kotarou that Hijikata ended up meeting Gintoki again, almost ten years after they had first met. 

* * *

In late summer, an Amanto embassy was bombed. Katsura Kotarou was the prime suspect, at least until the security footage from the embassy gates was leaked. Chasing Katsura was usually Sougo’s job, Hijikata was in charge of overseeing the mission, but by chance, he had glanced at the news being broadcast on the TV screens in the window of the electronics store next door to his usual cigarette stand, and seen the photo of the wanted suspects.

“...The names of the embassy bombing suspects are still unknown,” a moderately attractive female reporter was saying, the image of the suspects behind her, “But they are regarded to be highly dangerous, and civilians should call the police as soon as possible if any of them are sighted.” 

“Your change, sir,” the old woman running the cigarette stand said, holding out a wrinkled hand containing three hundred yen, but Hijikata barely heard her, fixated on the image on the TV screen. 

The image was grainy, and the color was slightly off, but there was no doubt about it. Sakata Gintoki was among the three suspects shown. 

Hand trembling slightly, Hijikata reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his lighter. It took him a couple tries to light the cigarette he stuck in his mouth, his hands were shaking and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image on the screen. 

Gintoki was alive. He was  _ alive.  _

And he was a terrorist. 

“Sir?” the old lady asked, peering at him worriedly, but Hijikata ignored her, turning on his heel and running back to headquarters as fast as he could.  _ “Sir!”  _ she called after him. “Your change!”

* * *

“Let me lead the Amanto embassy bombing investigation!” Hijikata burst into Kondo’s office, breathing heavily after running all the way back to headquarters. 

“Huh?” Kondo looked up, pen poised over a piece of paper. “What’s all this, suddenly?”

“The bombing of an Amanto embassy earlier today- Sougo’s running the investigation, correct?” Hijikata bent over, placing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Let me lead this investigation. Please.” 

Kondo’s brow wrinkled slightly, and he tapped his chin with the back of his pen thoughtfully. “I don’t see no reason why not,” he said slowly, “But why? What’s so special about this bombing?”

“I can’t explain right now,” said Hijikata, bowing his head in thanks. “But I will, as soon as this matter is resolved.” 

“I trust that will be soon, then.” Kondo gave a warm smile. “You never fail to amaze me with the speed at which you work.” 

Hijikata felt his ears grow red and he bowed deeply to hide the blush that spread over his face. He had never been good at accepting praise, much less from his beloved superior. “Kondo…” 

Kondo chuckled. “Just go. You have an investigation to lead, don’t you?” 

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

Hijikata raced through the alleyway, his heart thumping in time with the pace of his boots. He paused before turning a corner, holding out one arm as a signal for his men to stay back. Peering round the corner, he spotted two  _ ronin  _ loitering in front of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Based off of Yamazaki’s intel, this must be Katsura’s headquarters, he realized. Motioning for his soldiers to stay silent, Hijikata formulated a quick plan.

“Okay, listen up,” he whispered. “We’ll do a sneak attack- a small group will force their way through the front, distracting them, while the rest go in the back silently. Understand? Sougo, you lead the first group-”

“Shinsengumi, move out!” yelled Sougo, ignoring Hijikata completely and hoisting his bazooka onto his shoulder. “I just need to force my way in, right?” 

“No, dammit, listen to the rest of my plan!” growled Hijikata. He turned back to the troops, commanding, “Do  _ not  _ move out! I repeat, Shinsengumi, do  _ not  _ move, hold your position!”

“Too late, we’ve already been noticed.” Sougo pointed at the two  _ ronin  _ who had been guarding the warehouse, now moving towards them. “Guess we’ve got no choice but to go all out and force our way in.” He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. 

Hijikata gritted his teeth, rage bubbling up inside him. “Godammit, Sougo, you bastard!” he cursed, drawing his sword. “Shinsengumi, move out!”

As he charged towards the entrance, despite the danger that faced him, Hijikata found himself smiling. The sound of his blood pumping in his ears, of his soldiers boots on the cobblestones, of metal clashing against metal- none of these invigorated him more than the knowledge that Gintoki was behind those doors. He was alive, and he was closer than ever before. He could fight him now, finally- after ten years of wondering and waiting, they could become equals at last. 

“This is the Shinsengumi!” he cried, flinging open the doors to the warehouse. “You’re all under arrest!” 

The occupants of the room leapt to action, some choosing to stay and fight, others scrambling towards the exit in a frenzy. The shouts, the clang of swords, the smell of blood- all the surrounding distractions seemed to disappear as Hijikata pointed his sword at Gintoki. 

He was taller than before, and though his hair was still an unruly mess of silver curls, it was slightly shorter and appeared to have been tamed somewhat. He was barefoot, and he wore black pants and a shirt, opened halfway down his chest and popped at the collar, almost as if he were inviting wandering eyes. A white  _ yukata  _ with a blue swirl pattern about the hem and sleeves was draped lazily over his muscular frame, the right sleeve empty and hanging at his waist, secured by a belt. On his left hip he wore a  _ bokuto,  _ a wooden sword, much like the one he had fought Hijikata with on that fateful match at the dojo in Bushuu ten years ago. 

Hijikata’s sword gleamed, and his eyes met with Gintoki’s for a split second. A spark of understanding rang in Gintoki’s eyes and Hijikata found his lips curling into a crude smile as his hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. 

The time had come. At last, at last,  _ at last,  _ they would fight- and Hijikata would win, he  _ had  _ to win, he had waited so long and practiced so hard- and they would be equals. 

Gintoki’s hands moved, not to his sword, but to the shoulders of two children standing beside him, a short red-haired girl in Chinese clothing and a nervous-looking boy wearing glasses. His stance shifted to the defensive, his body hunching, leaning away from Hijikata, and in an instant, he turned on his heel, shoved the two children towards the exit, and yelled  _ “Run!”  _ before following them out of the small room, now bathed in reckless violence. 

Hijikata’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Gintoki was a man, a  _ samurai,  _ yet he would rather turn and run like a coward than fight honorably, like a true  _ bushi.  _ This wasn’t the Gintoki Hijikata had fought all those years ago. This wasn’t the Gintoki Hijikata had sworn to fight, to avenge his master. This wasn’t the Gintoki Hijikata had admired, had aspired to be like.

Ignoring the fighting breaking out between his fellow Shinsengumi and the Joui rebels in the main room, Hijikata’s feet carried him out the exit and through the halls of the building in hot pursuit of Gintoki. His blood boiled in fury. How dare Gintoki abandon their fight? Hadn’t Hijikata waited long enough? 

Passing through a hallway, Hijikata spotted Gintoki and thrust his sword at him, forcing him to dodge and step away from the two children and the tall, long-haired man alongside him. 

“There’s no need to run,” he snarled, glaring down at Gintoki crouching against the wall. “It’s a nice fight. Let’s have some fun.” 

Gintoki’s hand snaked towards the  _ bokuto  _ on his hip. “Hey, are you really a public official?” he drawled, and Hijikata remembered in a rush just how annoying his voice was. “I’m surprised you passed the interview. Your pupils are dilated.”

“You should talk, creep!” Hijikata raised his sword. “Coming from someone with the eyes-” He paused, for Gintoki’s eyes were no longer those of a corpse’s. They were dead, for sure- droopy and expressionless, but there was something in them that hadn’t been there ten years ago- hope, perhaps, or love. They were looking past Hijikata, behind him, at the two children he had seen earlier when he had first burst into the room, and he felt a pang of annoyance. Did Gintoki care so little about their fight? 

“-the eyes of a dead fish,” finished Hijikata lamely, slightly frustrated with himself for not coming up with a better insult. 

“It’s alright,” smirked Gintoki, getting to his feet. “They sparkle during my closeups.” 

Hijikata’s lip curled and he thrust his sword once more at Gintoki. “Don’t lie!” he yelled, forcing Gintoki to dodge his strike. He then reversed the direction of his sword, swinging it back at Gintoki’s chest. It was a move he had perfected over years of practice, and very few were able to see through it, let alone dodge it; yet Gintoki noticed in time and stepped back, the tip of Hijikata’s sword merely grazing his chest and tearing through his clothing. 

“You’re pretty good,” commented Hijikata. “Most people can’t keep up with this transition.” 

_ He’s not using his sword,  _ noticed Hijikata, with a twinge of annoyance.  _ Why won’t he use his sword?  _

“That’s dangerous. What would you do if it really hit me?” remarked Gintoki, rubbing his chest where the sword had torn through his clothes. 

“You idiot!” Hijikata barked. “I’m trying to hit you!” Eyes clouded with fury, he raised his sword and ran towards Gintoki, swiping at him with every chance he got, yet, annoyingly, he would merely dodge, not even lifting a finger to fight back. 

Hijikata clicked his tongue. _If he won’t fight, I’ll make_ _him fight,_ he decided, and backed Gintoki against a wall so he had nowhere to run. He made to strike at his neck, a fatal blow, and finally, _finally,_ Gintoki drew his sword, a loud noise resounding through the narrow hallway as metal collided with wood. He was reminded of their first match, where Gintoki was begrudgingly made to use a _bokuto_ instead of his real sword, and now, ten years later, he was fighting with a _bokuto_ while Hijikata was the one with a real sword. 

Hijikata could feel his arms shaking, muscles straining to keep his sword even with Gintoki’s- had he always been this strong?- but Gintoki was hardly breaking a sweat, meeting Hijikata one-on-one with almost zero effort. Hijikata gritted his teeth, sweat dripping into his eyes and he blinked furiously to relieve himself of the stinging sensation.

“Oh, you crying?” taunted Gintoki. “Giving up already?”

“Like hell,” spat Hijikata. “I’ve waited ten years for this, I’m not giving up ‘till I win.” 

“Huh?” snorted Gintoki. “Ten years? We only just met.” 

Hijikata felt the blood drain from his face. His palms slipped from sweat on the handle of his sword. “What?” he croaked. “You don’t-”

“Hijikata-san, look out,” he heard Sougo call lazily, and both Gintoki and Hijikata turned just in time to witness a shot from his bazooka hurtling towards them. Instantly Hijikata dodged to the left, narrowly missing the shot, which hit the wall behind where he and Gintoki had been locked in battle a moment prior. The wall exploded, sparks and chunks of wood flying everywhere, and by the time the smoke had cleared, Gintoki was gone. 

“You alive, Hijikata-san?” drawled Sougo, ambling towards the spot where Hijikata had fallen, bazooka hoisted on his shoulder. 

“Idiot! You could have killed me!” Hijikata yelled, getting to his feet. 

“Damn,” Sougo muttered, turning his head to the side. “I missed.”

“What do you mean, ‘missed?!’” berated Hijikata. “Hey! Look at me!”

Sougo didn’t answer and Hijikata sighed, making a mental note to chastise him later. “So?” he asked. “Where are they?”

“Vice-commander, they’re in here,” one of the men in his squad answered, leading him to a sealed-off room. 

Hijikata nodded his thanks and proceeded to yell at the door, “Hey! Come out! Stop your useless resistance!” He received no answer, though he hadn’t really expected one. “This is the fifteenth floor!” he warned. “There’s nowhere to escape!”

“Hey, come out! We’re really gonna fire this time!” Sougo called impatiently. “Hijikata-san, our drama rerun is gonna start soon.” He nudged Hijikata with his elbow. 

“Shit,” cursed Hijikata. “I forgot to set my VCR.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get this over with,” he decided. “Prepare to fire!” he instructed his troops, readying his sword himself. 

_ “Fire!”  _ he commanded, but before he had even finished saying the word, the door burst open and Gintoki, the red-haired girl, and the bespectacled teenager sprinted out, yelling something incomprehensible. Caught by surprise, his troops scattered as the odd group barrelled through them, screaming at the top of their lungs. 

“Wh- What are you doing?!” yelled Hijikata, waving his fist at his troops angrily. “Stop them!”

“If you want to stop something, then stop this bomb, please!” Gintoki held up a small, silver object. At first Hijikata thought he was bluffing, but then he heard it ticking and saw the numbers on a small LED screen counting down. “You’ve got a bomb squad, don’t you?” Gintoki pleaded, though he did not cease his running. “Oi!”

“H- He’s got a bomb!” one of Hijikata’s troops yelled, turning to face him desperately. 

“So? Stop them!” Hijikata commanded, but his words fell upon deaf ears as his troops ignored his orders and ran for the exit. 

“Hold on!” Gintoki began running after the deserters. “Hey! Wait!” Desperately, he tossed the bomb to the teenage boy running beside him. “Shinpachi, you said you’re good with machines, right?”

“Y- Y- You’re mistaken!” Shinpachi stammered nervously. “Kagura, this is your fault to begin with!” he cried, throwing the bomb to the short red-haired girl behind him.  _ “You  _ do something!”

It was a bizarre scene; several adult policemen equipped with swords, guns, and bazookas running desperately away from an odd group of two children and a man with a silver perm playing  _ shiritori  _ with a bomb about to go off. In all his years of police work, Hijikata had never come across such a situation, and though he’d never admit it, he was fully lost as to what he should do. He turned to Sougo to gauge his response, but he was merely laughing, doubled over and clutching his stomach as he cackled at the scene before him. 

“Oi! Sougo!” Hijikata chastised, but was cut off by a high-pitched scream as the red-haired girl swung a purple umbrella and hit Gintoki as hard as she could. He crashed through the window, shards of glass flying everywhere, and a chill ran down Hijikata’s spine as he remembered suddenly-  _ we’re on the fifteenth floor.  _

_ “Gintoki!” _ he heard himself yell, and sprinted towards the window, glass crunching beneath his boots. Suddenly, a huge  _ boom  _ resounded through the hallway, the floor beneath him reverberating as smoke poured in through the broken window. 

“Gin-chan, goodbye!” the red-haired girl called out the window, as Shinpachi brought his hands to his face, wailing,

“Gin-san!”

Hijikata staggered backwards, feeling his stomach drop. Hands trembling, he brought a cigarette to his lips out of habit, but forgot to light it. Ears ringing from the explosion, his lips formed the word “Gintoki,” but no sound came out. 

“No way,” he muttered, falling to his knees. Distantly, he felt a stinging sensation as glass shards pierced his skin, but it was secondary to the inner turmoil roiling his brain. This couldn’t be happening- he had just met Gintoki, after ten years-  _ ten years-  _ and now he was dead? Gintoki hadn’t even remembered him, and now he never would. He’d never get to talk with Gintoki again, never see his smug, infuriating, blinding smile again, never learn what had transpired in the ten years he’d missed, never fight with him, never hold him the way he had been too afraid to all those years ago…

“He’s okay!” Shinpachi announced to the red-haired girl beside him, grinning so widely his cheeks displaced the rims of his glasses. “Gin-san’s okay!” 

Hijikata shot upright, gasping for air, the boy’s words echoing in his ears.  _ He’s okay. Gin-san’s okay.  _ He lurched to the window and leaned out, looking down, ignoring the red-haired girl’s indignant cries. 

Gintoki was alive, clinging to a banner hanging from the front of the building. His silver hair was fluffed ridiculously into an afro from the heat of the explosion, and there was soot and ash staining his face and clothes. His skin was blotched shiny red and pink from burns in parts, but overall he was uninjured and safe. 

“Oi!” he yelled up at Shinpachi and the girl. “Don’t just stand there staring, get me down!” 

“C- Coming!” Shinpachi responded, pushing his glasses up with a finger and abandoning the window, racing down the stairs. The red-haired girl stuck out her tongue at Gintoki, but followed Shinpachi after a moment, leaving Hijikata alone at the window. 

“Gin-” he started to call, then coughed, face growing red. “I mean- er- Sakata-san! This isn’t over yet! I haven’t forgotten my promise!”

“Huh? What promise?” Gintoki wrinkled his nose. “Oi! Your brain is funny, ya shitty cop!” 

“ _ You’re  _ the one who’s brain is funny! You might’a forgotten, but I sure as hell haven’t!”   
“Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about! Leave me alone! You’re crazy!”

Hijikata felt his face contort with anger. How could Gintoki have forgotten him? Did he really leave such little impact? 

“I’ll make you remember me, damn it!” he yelled down at Gintoki, swinging from the banner. “You mark my words: you’ll regret that you ever forgot me, Sakata-san!” 

The window beneath Gintoki opened, and he began to climb in, assisted by Shinpachi and the red-haired girl. “And I’m tellin’ you, I have no clue what you’re talking about! You got the wrong guy!” he yelled up at Hijikata. “Idiot cop!”

“Shitty perm!” Hijikata responded, and Gintoki disappeared into the window. 

* * *

“Hijikata-san,” Sougo drawled, sticking his hand into the bowl of popcorn and rummaging around. “Who was that guy?”

“Hm?” Hijikata grunted, fixated on the drama on the TV. 

“The silver-haired guy. You acted as if you know him.” 

Hijikata  _ tsk _ ed. “None of your business.” 

“Is he the reason you asked Kondo to take over my investigation?”

“H-How’d you hear that?” spluttered Hijikata, ears growing red. 

“Kondo said you asked to lead this investigation specifically. Why is that, Hijikata-san?” Sougo smirked, watching Hijikata’s face redden. 

“I told you it’s none of your business, damn it!” Hijikata grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing angrily. 

“It is if you keep taking over my job.”

“I’m not taking over your job. I just wanted to lead the investigation.”

“Because of the silver-haired man.”

“It has nothing to do with you, Sougo, so keep out of it.” 

“You seemed pretty upset when you thought he had died. I wonder why…?”

“Stay out of it, Sougo. I’m warning you.” 

“What was it you said to him? ‘I haven’t forgotten my promise’- what promise? Did ya promise your virginity to him or something, Hijikata-san?” 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Hijikata finally snapped. “One more word out of you, Sougo, and it’s seppuku, ya hear? I mean it!” 

“Oh, how scary,” jeered Sougo, but he quieted down all the same. Hijikata glared at him for a moment, as if daring him to continue, but Sougo merely crunched on popcorn, eyes glued to the screen. 

Sighing, Hijikata lit a cigarette and turned up the volume on the TV. 

* * *

“Gin-chan,” Kagura piped up. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of Gintoki, a towel around her shoulders as he blow-dried her hair after her evening bath.

“Yeah?” he grunted, combing through a strand of red hair. 

“Who was that guy, earlier today?” 

“Zura?”

“No, the other one. The cop with the black hair. He acted like he knew you.” 

Gintoki  _ tsk _ ed. “No idea.” 

Kagura twisted her head around to look at him. “Really?” 

“Yeah. Never seen him before in my life.” 

“But you’ve been acting strange since you met him.” 

“H-Huh?” said Gintoki, a little too quickly. “I haven’t been acting strange at all.” He suddenly seemed very focused on drying her hair. 

“You have, too. You burnt dinner, which you never do, you missed Ketsuno Ana’s evening broadcast, and you’ve been combing the same spot of hair for ten minutes,” Kagura pointed out. 

“I’m just, you know, er- traumatized. I could have died today, you know that? My hair is still all frizzy from that bomb. Maybe it’ll never be the same again.”

“Your hair is always frizzy, Gin-chan,” pointed out Kagura. “And we’ve been through worse and you were fine.” 

Gintoki clicked his tongue irritably. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, shitty brat.” 

“You know him, don’t you?” Kagura blinked up at him innocently. 

“None of your business. Go watch  _ Ladies 4  _ or something.”

_ “Ladies 4  _ isn’t on until tomorrow,” Kagura pouted. “Who is he, Gin-chan?”

Gintoki sighed, turning off the blow-drier and setting it down. “An idiot who’s in over his head, that’s who.”

“So you  _ do  _ know him!” Kagura jumped to her feet excitedly, racing to the couch and turning on the TV. 

“I told you I don’t! And don’t go around saying I do!” Gintoki called after her irritably, getting to his feet. 

“Why? If you know him, why say you don’t?” Kagura leaned back, picking at her nose with her pinky finger. 

Gintoki plopped down next to her on the couch with a sigh, propping his feet up on the coffee table and picking up a copy of  _ Jump.  _ “A kid like you wouldn’t understand,” he said, leafing through it lazily. 

Kagura stuck out her tongue in distaste, wiping a booger on his sleeve. She watched him for a moment, swinging her feet, then turned back to the TV. “Bo-ring,” she sang, and turned up the volume. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little late, I've been swamped with finals and college is killing me. This chapter is based off of the events that transpire in episode 5 of Gintama, and so some of the dialogue comes from that, although I added some extra to fit with my narrative. Thank you also to everyone who leaves kudos and/or comments! They really, really make me happy and inspire me to keep on writing, so thank you so, so much! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please look forward to the next one, which will cover the events of episode 9 and will also be where the plot begins to develop. Thank you for reading!


	5. Ninety Years and Nine-Hundred-and-Ninety-Nine Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kondo's loss in a duel against Gintoki, Hijikata uses it as an excuse to seek him down and fight him.

“You seem rather on edge lately,” Kondo commented, as Hijikata lit his third cigarette in thirty minutes.

“Do I?” he answered absentmindedly, his leg bouncing with nervous energy as his pen scratched across the page of paperwork in front of him.

“It’s because he’s in _love,”_ taunted Sougo, kicking the table idly so that Hijikata’s pen kept slipping, causing him to start over and over again.

“Shut the hell up, Sougo! And stop shaking the table!” Hijikata snarled, crumpling up the paper he was working on and starting another.

“Really?” Kondo looked surprised. “Is that true, Tosshi?”

“Of course not, you know me. I’m _angry-”_ Hijikata shot a glare at Sougo, “-that I can’t work properly because of a little _shit_ shaking the goddamn table!”

“Nah, he’s angry because he waited ten years for a guy who doesn’t even remember him,” Sougo sneered, giving up on shaking the table and settling for blowing spitballs at Hijikata instead.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Hijikata finally snapped, standing up and accidentally knocking over the table in the process. Papers flew everywhere, scattering like white doves. “If you mention him again, Sougo, I’m assigning you to bathroom duty for the next three months.” He bent down and grabbed a handful of papers. “I’ll go work somewhere else,” he announced, scowling pointedly at Sougo before stalking out of the room.

“W- Wait, Tosshi!” Kondo called after him, frantically gathering up the papers scattered around the room and hurrying after Hijikata. “C’mon,” he said, catching up with him in the hallway, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sougo’s just teasing. Why don’t we go somewhere, get your mind off of things? There’s a cabaret club we haven’t been kicked out of yet, want to give it a try?”

Hijikata sighed, his anger dissipating. Normally he’d decline Kondo’s invitation, he found the atmosphere of cabaret clubs and Yoshiwara brothels stifling and oppressive as he always found himself at the center of the women's’ competing affection despite his having little or no interest in such matters. Yet, though he’d never admit it, Kondo was right. He _had_ been on edge lately, and it absolutely had to do with Gintoki.

How could Gintoki have forgotten him? Had Hijikata somehow made a mistake? Had his encounter with Gintoki ten years prior been nothing but an empty dream? And who were those two children that had been with Gintoki? They couldn’t be his- they were much too old- but then whose were they, and what did they have to do with Gintoki? Moreover, what had Gintoki been doing with the terrorists? He had put himself in harm's way to make sure the terrorists’ bomb didn’t go off inside the building, but why would he do that if he was one of them? The only conclusion Hijikata could reach was that he wasn’t working with or for Katsura Kotarou’s faction of rebels, but then, why was he there in the first place?

As much as Hijikata mulled these questions around in his head, he couldn’t seem to find a viable connections. The children, Katsura, the bomb, the embassy, the _bokuto_ he fought with- nothing added up.

“Tosshi?” Kondo asked, and Hijikata snapped out of his reverie.

“Sure,” he decided, forcing a weak smile. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The cabaret club turned out to be a small enclave, hidden behind a used bookstore, and even with Kondo and Hijikata’s combined efforts, it took awhile to find. The hostess at the entrance seemed a bit wary when Kondo stepped in, but immediately warmed up after laying eyes on Hijikata.

“Right this way, sirs,” she smiled, leading them to an empty booth, which quickly filled up as hostesses swarmed around Hijikata, completely ignoring Kondo.

“Hijikata- _han,”_ squealed a short, black-haired girl, grabbing his arm and latching onto it tightly. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Her breasts rubbed against his bicep and he felt his face grow red, casting a pleading glance at Kondo, silently wishing for him to do something to deflect attention off of him, but he was slumped over, dejected, at the other end of the couch, engaged in a staring contest with the floor.

As if some faraway god had decided to take pity on Hijikata and heed his prayers for a diversion, his phone rang suddenly. Eagerly he answered it, pretending not to notice the disappointed expression on the black-haired girl’s face.

“Sorry,” he apologized to Kondo after hanging up. “I’ve got to go. A group of Joui exclusionists have been found, they’re going to try and catch them off-guard tonight. I should be there to oversee.”

“Aww,” the girl whined. “You work so hard already, can’t you just stay and relax?” She leaned in close, her breasts coming into contact with Hijikata’s arm again.

Hijikata cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll, um. Pass on that offer.” He stood abruptly, forcing the girl to release her vice-like grip on his arm, and turned towards Kondo.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I’m heading out.”

Kondo raised his head, a glum expression on his face. “Right. Good luck with the raid.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”  
“Tomorrow,” affirmed Kondo, though he seemed distracted, gazing despairingly at a nearby brown-haired hostess in a pink yukata.

Hijikata wavered, feeling guilty about leaving Kondo, but he comforted himself with the fact that it wasn’t as if he really had a choice- he was working, after all.

* * *

The raid was successful, the third and tenth divisions managing to capture a group of Joui exclusionists during their monthly karaoke contest. Though Hijikata usually felt pride or satisfaction after a good job done well, this time he just felt empty. He had taken out a group of Joui rebels, but so what? There were countless more where they came from. Just arresting small fry wasn’t doing any good- they had to go after the leaders of the insurgents, like Katsura Kotarou or Takasugi Shinsuke. Yet Katsura kept somehow evading them, and Takasugi seemed to have disappeared almost completely from the face of the earth.

Alone in his room back at headquarters, Hijikata found his thoughts turning back to Gintoki. Now that he knew that he was alive and somewhere in Edo, it wouldn’t be hard to track him down. If he wanted, he could call up Yamazaki right now and ask him to run a search on the name Sakata Gintoki through the Shinsengumi databases. But even if he did, Hijikata realized, he was unable to fight him as he pleased. One of the rules of the _kyokuchuu hatto,_ the set of rules and restrictions that defined the Shinsengumi, which Hijikata himself had written, prohibited Shinsengumi members from starting or engaging in fights with other members or civilians. Punishment was, as always, seppuku. Only under certain circumstances were such duels allowed, and even then, they had to be justified and then approved by a higher authority.

Hijikata’s naive, ten-year-old grudge would most certainly not be considered legitimate grounds to fight. In order for him to legally be able to fight Gintoki, it would have to be under more extreme circumstances- if Gintoki were to kill or harm someone close to Hijikata, or it he were to besmirch his or a boss’s honor. If he wanted to fight Gintoki, Hijikata would have to wait until such a chance presented itself.

 

Luckily, that chance came sooner than expected.

 

The evening after the raid, Kondo snuck into Hijikata’s room while he was working on paperwork.

“Toshi,” he whispered, hiding behind the sliding screen door. _“Toshi!_ Let me in!”

Hijikata heaved a sigh and got to his feet wearily, padding over to the door and sliding it open. Lately, Kondo had taken to visiting him in his room to talk endlessly about some girl named Otae, who he was convinced would soon cave in to his repeated ministrations. However, when he opened the door, he found himself faced with an unfamiliar visage: it was Kondo, alright, but his left eye and cheek were bruised and swollen.

“W- Who did this to you?” Hijikata demanded, searching his room for a first-aid kit. “Was it a civilian? A Joui attack?”

“No, I, er-” Kondo looked away, embarrassed. “I lost a duel.”

 _“What?!_ A duel? But that’s-”

“Forbidden, yes, but I had no choice- it was a duel of love! For my dearest Otae-chan!” insisted Kondo, placing a hand over his heart and looking upwards, misty-eyed. “She- she claimed that she had a fiance, which _must_ be a lie. What sort of irresponsible scumbag would let his fiance work at a cabaret bar, for one? Moreover, she said that he had already defiled her this way and that- no upstanding man would do such a thing to a girl as pure-hearted as Otae-chan, and before marriage, no less!”

“So you dueled her fiance?” Hijikata cut off Kondo’s rant, successfully locating the first-aid kit from the back of his closet.

“Of course. How can I allow in good conscience Otae-chan to marry such a man?”

“But you lost.” Hijikata poured some disinfectant onto a cotton ball and dabbed at Kondo’s swollen cheek lightly.

“Unfortunately, he was a cunning man- ow, that hurts!- with strength exceeding mine.” Kondo winced, his gaze elsewhere, as if reliving the battle in his mind.

“I find that hard to believe.” Hijikata frowned. “What was he like?”

“He was around your age and stature, but he had the most unusual hair- a silver perm, I believe.” Kondo’s brow furrowed. “He wasn’t such a bad fellow- if he weren’t engaged to Otae-chan, I think we would have gotten along rather well. You know, he quite reminded me of you, Toshi.” He turned to Hijikata, grinning toothily, but his smile faltered. “Toshi?”

Hijikata barely heard him, his mind reeling. He felt as though his blood had turned to ice- his hand, which had been about to apply a plaster to Kondo’s cheek, had frozen in midair, trembling slightly.

 _Of course._ A silver haired samurai, with strength exceeding that of Kondo’s- the only person he knew of fitting that description and who could beat Kondo in a fight was Gintoki- it had been true ten years ago, there was no reason it wouldn’t still be true today.

“Do you remember anything else about him?” demanded Hijikata, frenzied. “How he fought, what type of sword he used- anything?”

“He used a wooden sword,” recalled Kondo. “But he used a dirty trick to win- he gave me his sword to fight with, but prior to the fight he sawed it in such a way that it fell apart when I wielded it!” He clenched his fist dramatically. “If not for that, I could have won!”

 _I doubt that,_ Hijikata thought, but kept his mouth shut. Tuning out Kondo’s ravings about Otae, his thoughts turned back to Gintoki. He most likely would have been able to win against Kondo in a fair fight, so why did he cheat? When Hijikata had fought him briefly after the embassy bombing incident, Gintoki had refused to fight back then as well, instead dodging his attacks and choosing to remain on the defensive. From what he could tell, it wasn’t that Gintoki was bad at fighting- quite the opposite, he was exceptional at it, as if fighting were like breathing, mere second nature to him- but he purposefully chose to abstain from it except in the most dire of situations. Why was that? Why did a man with such skill choose not to fight? It made no sense.

And then there was the matter of Gintoki being engaged. Kondo seemed to be convinced that Otae was lying, based on the assumption that no man would be dastardly enough to let his beloved fiance work in a cabaret bar, but from what Hijikata knew of Gintoki, he was certainly enough of a scumbag to do such a thing. He was lazy, crass, licentious, and had no motivation whatsoever.

For some reason, the idea of Gintoki being engaged left a bad taste in Hijikata’s mouth. Picturing him walking, laughing, smiling, hand-in-hand with some woman made his stomach clench uncomfortably and filled him with both rage and loneliness. It had nothing to do with him, Gintoki was free to be with whoever he liked, but still he couldn’t shake the overwhelming sensation that his heart was being crushed slowly, painfully, as if trapped under an avalanche.

“Toshi? Is something wrong?”

Hijikata blinked. “No,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m just tired. I apologize.” He bowed his head slightly.

“No, no, nothing to apologize for. I’ve kept you up late, haven’t I?” Kondo ruffled his hair affectionately. “I’ll leave you alone and let you get some sleep.”

Despite Kondo’s well wishes, Hijikata found himself unable to sleep that night, tossing and turning on his futon, taunted by the silver moon.

* * *

In spite of his efforts to conceal the fact that Kondo had fought in a duel and lost, by midday, all of the Shinsengumi and most of Edo knew, courtesy of Sougo. The Shinsengumi arranged themselves with surprising resolve, vowing to seek down the “silver-haired samurai” and kill him, despite knowing nothing about him apart from the color of his hair. If this had been any other situation, Hijikata would have been proud of the way his troops mobilized instantly in response to a crisis, but this time, he just felt mild pity. There was no way they’d find Gintoki with what little information they had, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to defeat him. He was nothing like the petty criminals and small-time Joui rebels they’d fought in the past. No, this was something Hijikata had to do himself. Something only he could do.

Strolling through the streets of Edo, trying to maintain a calm and composed image, Hijikata felt his palms itch, his fingers ache, longing for the grip of his sword. The thirst for violence he had so despised when he was younger was now overwhelming: he was not merely hungry for blood, he was _starving._

“Hey, watch it!” a voice from above called as he was walking below a building site, chastising Sougo. Hijikata looked up, just in time to dodge a large bundle of wood that came falling from the roof of the building. He fell backwards on his ass ungracefully and let out what Sougo later described to Yamazaki as a scream befitting that of a little girl crossed with an angry parakeet.

“H-Hey, that’s dangerous!” he shrieked, trying to ignore Sougo’s sniggering.

“That’s why I said to ‘watch it.’” A man in craftsmen clothes descended from a ladder. Hijikata couldn’t see his face, but his voice was strangely familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“So say it with more emotion then! Got it?”

“Oh, shaddup. Like I’m gonna listen to some stranger coach me on dramatic delivery.” The workman turned around and removed his yellow hard-hat, revealing a messy mop of silver curls.

Hijikata tried and failed to conceal his shock. “It’s- it’s you! Gin- er, the man from the embassy bombing!” He hastily corrected himself, Sougo’s inquisitive gaze burning a hole in his back.

Gintoki cocked his head slightly, but showed no signs of recognition. “Uhh, who are you?” he asked after a moment, red eyes dull. “Wait,” he said after a moment. “It can’t be-” his eyes narrowed, focused on Hijikata.

Hijikata felt a surge of emotion- relief, perhaps- rush over him, a cool waterfall. Gintoki hadn’t forgotten- he remembered, he _recognized_ him- all these years of waiting weren’t for naught, now that he had realized who he was.

Gintoki stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder- it was a simple, meaningless gesture, yet Hijikata’s breath caught in his throat, his heart doing caterpaults in his chest- he leaned in close, eyes scanning Hijikata’s face, and he said,

“Is that you, Oogushi-kun? Man, you’re looking so important.” A corner of his mouth shifted upwards, a crude half-smile. “What’s up? Your pet goldfish ever get any bigger?”

Hijikata’s hands clenched into fists by his sides, arms shaking with the effort of keeping them steady and not punching Gintoki square in his face like he deserved. He couldn’t be serious- forgetting Hijikata entirely was low enough as it was, but mistaking him for someone else was the worst. It was all he could do not to draw his sword right then and there and separate his dumb grinning face from his shoulders. Surely it wouldn’t be counted as murder if the victim was as idiotic as Gintoki.

“Hey, Gin-san! Hurry up, will ya?” a man’s voice called from the rooftop, and he turned away briefly, his hand lingering on Hijikata’s shoulder. He had half a mind to grab it and break all his fingers one by one, but somehow managed to restrain himself.

“Be right up!” Gintoki yelled back. “‘Scuse me, Oogushi-kun. Gotta get back to work.” With that, he turned and left, clambering back up the ladder and onto the roof.

“He took off!” remarked Sougo. “What’cha gonna do, Oogushi-kun?”

“Who you callin’ Oogushi-kun?!” snarled Hijikata, barely suppressing his rage. “That jerk! He forgets me after a couple weeks!”

“Well, I think most would,” Sougo commented, but Hijikata barely heard him.

“Sougo, lend me your sword,” he commanded, gritting his teeth.

Sougo frowned. “Huh?”

“Just do it, dammit!” He grabbed Sougo’s sword, securing it in his belt, and climbed up the ladder after Gintoki.

He was sitting cross-legged on the roof, back to the ladder, hammering away at a roof tile when Hijikata approached him.

“First bomb disposal, now roof repair?” snarled Hijikata, stepping onto the roof. “You’ve got no self-respect at all, do ya? What’s your story, huh?”

Gintoki’s brow furrowed. “Bomb?” He blinked, thinking for a moment, and then said, “You were there, too?”

“Finally remembered?” Hijikata took a step closer, his boots clacking against the tiles. “There’s no one even in the Shinsengumi who’s that crazy.” He sighed, taking another step. “I used to think Kondo-san was invincible, but if it’s you, it’s a little more believable.”

Gintoki frowned. “Kondo-san?”

“You two fought over a woman, remember? Your _fiance.”_ He spat out the word bitterly. “And the time before that, ten years ago, it was for money. Although you don’t seem to remember.” His expression darkened. He tossed Sougo’s sword to Gintoki and he caught it, looking at it with a puzzled expression. Hijikata scoffed. “Is she worth it? Introduce me to her, will ya?”

“You’re friends with gorilla-butt?” Gintoki raised an eyebrow. “What are you coming after me for?” He had only just finished his sentence when Hijikata unsheathed his sword and lunged without warning. Gintoki was barely able to block the swing in time with Sougo’s sword, but the impact of the hit sent him flying and he rolled backwards across the roof.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, steadying himself at the end of the roof.

“He may be a gorilla,” admitted Hijikata, standing over him, sword readied. “But to us, he’s our beloved general. He built the Shinsengumi up from nothing with just one sword. He’s my brother-in-arms. I won’t let anyone shame our Shinsengumi, and whoever crosses that line- my blade shall taste his blood!”

Raising his sword, Hijikata charged forwards for a second attack, but this time, Gintoki dodged, kicking up a cloud of dust to obscure his vision. Hijikata coughed, the dust causing his eyes to tear up.

“Quit swinging that sword around!” yelled Gintoki, and kicked Hijikata in the back, causing him to stumble and fall forward. While falling, Hijikata flipped over in midair, managing to land a deep cut on Gintoki’s left shoulder before collapsing back on the roof, the rough tiles doing nothing to cushion his fall. Gintoki bellowed in pain, falling backwards, and clutched at his shoulder angrily.

“Hey, Gin-san! You don’t get paid if you’re just playing around!” an old man’s voice, presumably Gintoki’s boss, reprimanded from the other side of the building.

“Shut up, baldy! Call the police! _The police!”_ Gintoki shot back, trying to staunch the bleeding in his shoulder.

“I _am_ the police,” snarled Hijikata, getting to his feet, using his sword as support.

“For real? Man, this world is coming to an end,” chuckled Gintoki, though there was no humor in his words. He ripped off part of his sleeve and tied it around his shoulder clumsily, red saturating the white within seconds.

“For real,” confirmed Hijikata. His eyes narrowed, watching Gintoki. He had yet to draw his sword, he noticed. He wasn’t even defending himself, just dodging Hijikata’s blows. The only time he had struck Hijikata was when he kicked him, and even then, he could tell Gintoki was holding back. He clicked his tongue irritably. Did Gintoki think so little of him that he wouldn’t even draw his sword? Or was there another reason he refused to fight properly?

“Draw your sword,” he commanded, nodding at Sougo’s sword, still clutched in Gintoki’s right hand. “Killing a guy who won’t fight back’ll leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

Gintoki didn’t budge.

“Hurry up! Draw!” Hijikata bellowed, and slowly, tantalizingly, Gintoki drew his sword, the silver of the blade gleaming in the midday sunlight. “Finally,” muttered Hijikata, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, a sadistic grin. He bent his legs slightly and then, without warning, bounded up towards Gintoki, shouting, “Your life or mine!”

With a yell he slashed furiously at Gintoki, and for a brief moment, he really thought he had got him, until small shreds of blood-stained fabric fluttered down around him like butterflies, distracting him temporarily. Hijikata searched around desperately- Gintoki was fast, too fast- and out of the corner of his eye he saw him dart forward but he had no time to react, his sword was wedged in between two roof tiles as a result of Gintoki’s parry.

Gintoki raised his sword and Hijikata’s stomach dropped- this was it, this was how he would die- he swung downwards, slicing through the wind, and brought it down onto a small chip in the side of Hijikata’s sword. He hadn’t even realized that it existed, yet somehow Gintoki had noticed it and then pinpointed it exactly, and upon hitting it, caused Hijikata’s sword to shatter in two pieces, rendering him defenseless.

Gintoki dropped Sougo’s sword, the clattering noise of steel on tile ringing in Hijikata’s ears and straightened up, rubbing his injured shoulder with a groan. “Okay, fight’s over,” he declared, and met Hijikata’s eyes, granting him a small smile before turning away and yelling, “Hey, baldy! I’m gonna take some sick leave!”

Still clutching the hilt of his sword, trying to process what had just happened, it took Hijikata a minute before he realized that Gintoki was leaving him yet again. “W-Wait!” he called after him desperately, and Gintoki paused, but didn’t turn around. “Bastard, you- you took mercy on me?”

“Mercy?” Gintoki chuckled. “If I had any of that, I’d put it on my rice and eat it.” He massaged his shoulder, blood trickling out from between his fingers. “You fight when you have something to protect,” he continued, voice slightly softer. “Like you tried to protect the Shinsengumi.”

“Protect?” Hijikata’s brow furrowed. “Then, what did you try to protect?”

Gintoki twisted his head around to look Hijikata. “My own rules.” He smiled, and despite himself, Hijikata found himself returning the gesture, his lips twisting into a crude smile. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to, his default expressions being either a scowl or a grimace, but for some reason, it felt _right._ Time seemed to stop on that rooftop, and for a while, it was just him, Gintoki, and the wind.

“Oi, Gin! The hell’s goin’ on up there?!” the old man called, and the spell was broken. Gintoki turned back around to leave.

“Gintoki!” The cry ripped from Hijikata's mouth before he even knew what he was saying. “That messed up head of yours might’a forgotten, but I remember. Ninety years and nine-hundred an’ ninety-nine losses left- you best prepare yourself, ya hear?”

He thought he heard Gintoki chuckle, but then again, it could have been the wind. “I wouldn't have it any other way,” he muttered, mainly to himself. “See ya,” he said, raising his uninjured arm nonchalantly, and left.

* * *

 

Hijikata stood, still clutching his shattered sword, long after Gintoki had gone. Strangely, he wasn't angry, even though he had suffered yet another crippling loss which resulted in the destruction of his prized _Izuminokami Kanesada_.

The back he had been chasing for ten years was so much closer now. For the first time, he felt like he was really catching up to Gintoki. Before now, he had never been able to land even a single hit on Gintoki; yet today (he realized this with a pang of guilt) he had given him a sizeable wound, one that would probably scar. If this were a _kenjutsu_ match, he would have been declared the winner due to him striking the first blow, and though he ultimately lost this match, he could at least realize how far he had come from the nervous boy with the sweaty palms who barely knew what life outside of the country was.

Hijikata sheathed his newly-severed stump of a sword, mostly out of habit, and lay down on the tiles. He lit a cigarette, eyes closing in satisfaction as he inhaled, greeting the familiar burn of nicotine at the back of his throat like an old friend. The clouds moved idly by and the sun peeked out, bathing him in warm rays of butter yellow and Hijikata realized, for the first time in what felt like a very, very long while, he was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. This chapter covers the events of episode 9 of the anime, from Hijikata's perspective. After this chapter is where the plot begins to develop and we'll get to see how their backstory will affect them from now on. I'm really excited about it and can't wait to share it with you all! 
> 
> I apologize for my lateness and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story as it progresses!


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shinpachi stitches up Gintoki's shoulder. Brief interlude.

~~~~ “Gin-san! You’re back early!” Shinpachi hurried to the entrance way upon hearing the front door open, followed by the familiar loud plodding of Gintoki’s boots. He had a distinctive gait, and his footsteps were easily identifiable, as was his mood and level of inebriation, judging on the volume and speed of the steps. In the mornings, when he was still half-asleep, his walk was more of a stumble, a familiar  _ shh-shh  _ of bare feet on wood floor; whereas when he was in a particularly good mood the steps were loud, clumsy, and boisterous, like a child who has to be warned not to run in the house; and when he was drunk, which was often, the sound was akin to that of a rampaging rhinoceros, the steps heavy and uneven, interspersed with loud crashes (he had an unfortunate tendency to fall and knock things over). 

Today, his steps were a sluggish plod, which meant one of three things: he was either injured, in a bad mood, or both. From a safe distance of approximately five feet, Shinpachi asked tentatively, “How was the job?”

Gintoki  _ tsk _ ed. “Could’a gone better.” 

Shinpachi took a nervous step closer. “Gone better how?” He frowned. Gintoki was taking an awfully long time to untie his boots, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark (there was no lighting in the entranceway) he noticed a tear in the sleeve of Gintoki’s work outfit, surrounded by a suspicious stain. “Gin-san?”

Gintoki finally kicked off his boots and stood up, walking past Shinpachi and into the living room. “Gonna need a favor from ya, Pattsuan,” he announced, searching through piles of junk and discarded  _ JUMP  _ magazines that he had yet to dispose of until he found a red box. He held his left arm stiffly, and in the electric light of the living room, Shinpachi could see a large slash in his left shoulder, dried blood encrusting the skin and fabric around it, making it hard to tell the exact size of the wound. Fresh blood dripped down his arm, leaving spots on the floor, and already Shinpachi was distantly wondering how long he’d have to scrub the floor this time to get the stains out. 

“What was it this time?” he sighed, taking the red box and sitting on the couch. It wasn’t rare for Gintoki to come home injured or in some other form of disarray. Trouble seemed to be drawn to him through a magnetic field. Though Shinpachi didn’t approve, he could at least say that he was remarkably better at bandaging wounds and stitching sutures than any other boy his age. 

Gintoki disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, reappearing with a towel and a bowl of hot water. He placed them on the low coffee table and then sat at Shinpachi’s feet. “Alright, it’s your time to shine. Stitch me up, Shinpachi.”

Shinpachi made a small noise (a quietly voiced  _ geh)  _ of irritation and Gintoki craned his head around to give him a stern look. “Don’t be so impertinent,” he chastised. “You should be grateful! Grateful! How many other boys your age get to stitch up a man’s shoulder, huh? None, that’s how many! I’m giving you a rare opportunity and you just  _ geh  _ at it.” 

“It’s not a rare opportunity if it happens every other week,” grumbled Shinpachi, sterilizing the needle. 

“Stop complaining! Stitching builds character. When I was your age, I was stitching backs left and right, and I never complained!”

“Liar! You complain about it every time you have to stitch up yourself!” 

“I don’t complain!” Gintoki puffed out his cheeks, a picture of petulance. “I never complain. Have you ever heard me complain about anything? I’m a perfect beacon of contentment and morality. A real Bodhisattva. You’ll never hear me complain, no, no.” He shook his head with each ‘no,’ hair bouncing vividly. 

“Keep still!” commanded Shinpachi, sticking his tongue out as he inserted the needle into the first layer of skin. “Who did this to you anyway? They must have been pretty strong, to land such a deep cut.” 

_ “Him?  _ Strong?” Gintoki scoffed. “He just got lucky. That backwoods country brat thinks that getting a fancy new uniform and title means he’s suddenly my equal.” His eyes narrowed. “Not a chance.” 

“Gin-san, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Gintoki seemed to suddenly realize Shinpachi could hear him when he talked to himself out loud. “Right. No, you don’t know him.”

“Was he that police officer? Did he come back for revenge?”

“That gorilla? No way. He wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

“Not him, the other one. The one Kagura-chan said you were pretending you didn’t know.” 

“Kagura said  _ what?”  _ Gintoki twisted his head around, earning him a swift flick on the forehead, along with a disgruntled “Keep still!” from Shinpachi. 

“Kagura-chan said that you were pretending to not know the black-haired cop from a couple weeks ago, and that she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone because you said it was an adult’s affairs and that brats should mind their own business.” 

Gintoki groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead. “I should’ve known better than to tell her.” 

“So?” asked Shinpachi lightly, voice filled with mock innocence. “Was it him?”

He scowled, sticking out his lower lip defiantly. “So what if it was?” he muttered, sounding very much like a child who has been caught stealing candy and knows they’re in trouble. 

Shinpachi clicked his tongue. “I knew it,” he sighed. “What did you do to him, Gin-san?” he asked wearily. “Did you borrow money, or puke on his shoes, or vandalize his house, or-”

“I did none of those things!” interrupted Gintoki indignantly. “Just who exactly do you think I am? I’d never do something like that!”

“Gin-san, those are all things you’ve done before. Several times.” 

“H- Have not!” Gintoki protested, though he didn’t seem quite so sure of it himself. “Anyway, I didn’t do anything like that to him. Not in the slightest.”

“Then why was he so obsessed with fighting you? He warned you, he said that you’d regret forgetting him.” Shinpachi’s tone sharpened as he continued to prod Gintoki mercilessly for answers. “What exactly did you  _ do  _ to him, Gin-san?”

“I  _ told  _ you, nothing! Okay, so maybe I did borrow a little money, but I paid it back! All of it! I swear!” 

“Are you sure?” Shinpachi tugged slightly on the floss he was stitching Gintoki with. 

_ “Yes!” _

Shinpachi released the floss. “Fine, then. But you better apologize to him,” he warned, finishing up the final stitches. 

_ “Huh?  _ Why do  _ I  _ have to apologize?  _ He’s  _ the one who showed up out of nowhere and randomly attacked me! Look at what he did to poor, little, Gin-san!” Gintoki gestured towards his injured shoulder dramatically. He raised a hand to his head dramatically. “It- It hurts- I don’t think anything could ease this crippling pain except a parfait-” 

“Gin-san, please stop. This is just embarrassing. It hurts  _ me  _ to watch.” 

“Well, then don’t watch and go get me a parfait.” 

Shinpachi cocked his head. “Did you get paid?”

“No.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to suffer.” Shinpachi reached for the bandages. “Well, at least you’re symmetrical now.”

“Huh?” 

“You’ve got a similar scar in the same place on your other shoulder,” Shinpachi pointed out. 

“Hm?” Gintoki glanced at his right shoulder. “Oh, yeah. That.” He reached up, tracing the top of it with his right hand. 

He had an almost nostalgic look on his face, and for a split second, Shinpachi thought he saw him smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. This was originally supposed to be the ending of the previous chapter, but it didn't really fit with the PoV so I decided to make it into a short interlude before the plot continues to develop rather than deleting it entirely. Because it's midterms time, I haven't had much time to write, but I'm really looking forward to spring break so I can write more. Since it might be a while before I'm able to publish the next full-length (~5,000 words or so) chapter, I wanted to at least post something short so that y'all don't forget about this story, haha. 
> 
> I enjoyed trying to write Shinpachi, he's a character that's a bit hard to write given his tsukkomi nature but I hope it turned out okay. 
> 
> I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, and hope to post again soon!


	7. Fluffy not Filthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijikata and Gintoki fight, and Hijikata ends up having to deal with a drunk Gintoki.

After their brief skirmish on the roof, Gintoki kept running into Hijikata all over town- the grocery store, his favorite  _ dango  _ stand, even the movie theater. The first time, he attributed it to mere coincidence- they bumped into each other in line at the convenience store (Hijikata was buying mayonnaise, Gintoki  _ Shonen Jump _ ) and subsequently got in a verbal fight over whether  _ Magazine  _ or  _ Jump _ was the better publication - but after such events became more and more commonplace, to the extent where he saw Hijikata almost everyday, he could no longer dismiss it. 

“Why d’you keep following me, huh?” he accosted Hijikata one day, after encountering him at a screening of  _ My Neighbor Pedoro II: Boxers vs Briefs.  _ “You still trying to fight me? Didn’t you learn your lesson after I broke your sword? Or do I hafta beat it into you?”

_ “I’m  _ following  _ you?! You’re  _ the one following me- I’ve been trying to avoid ya this entire past week, yet you keep popping up like a goddamn groundhog!” 

“Oh,  _ sure.  _ There’s no way this can be coincidence- just admit that you’ve been following me, ya crazy stalker cop. You’re just as bad as that gorilla you call your boss!”

“You take that back!” Hijikata snarled, his hand flying to the sword on his hip. “ _ No one  _ insults Kondo-san in front of me- especially not some deadbeat  _ ronin  _ with pubes for hair!”

“Hey! You leave my hair out of this!” Gintoki crossed his arms. “It could be worse. I could have permanently V-shaped bangs.” He snorted. “How’d you even get ‘em like that, huh? Do you gel them with mayonnaise every morning?”

“Th- They just grow like that!” spluttered Hijikata, his ears growing red. “I can’t help it!” 

“As if! I bet you spend an hour in front of the mirror every day, tending to your bangs!”

“I do not! If anything, you’re the one obsessed with hair- no one’s hair is naturally that fluffy! Do you go to bed with curlers in every night? Are you a grandma?”

Gintoki blinked. “You- You think my hair looks fluffy?” 

Hijikata’s eyes widened, his ears turning a deep crimson. “I- I did not- I said your hair is filthy!  _ Filthy!” _

“No, you definitely said ‘fluffy!’” Gintoki’s mouth widened into a sadistic grin. “So you think my hair looks fluffy, huh? You think I’m cute?” He teased Hijikata mercilessly, enjoying the way his face contorted with anger and embarrassment. 

He couldn’t quite explain why, but there was something about Hijikata that made Gintoki want to bully him. Perhaps it was the way he acted tough and was quick to temper, but when embarrassed, his face glowed red like a traffic light and he could never quite seem to look Gintoki in the eyes. The disconnect was almost cute in a way -  _ almost _ \- and provoking him and then watching him blush and stutter like a schoolgirl was always a good source of entertainment. Every time he ran into Hijikata, he was tempted to see how far he could push him, how much teasing he could take before he snapped and ran after Gintoki, brandishing his sword wildly. 

“Go on, touch it!” Gintoki smirked. “I’ll let you touch my hair if you give me five-hundred yen.” 

“I wouldn’t touch your filthy mophead even if you  _ paid  _ me!”

“Even though it’s so fluffy?”

“I said  _ filthy,  _ dammit,  _ filthy!”  _ Hijikata looked around wildly, grabbing the arm of a nearby customer. “You heard the whole thing, right? You heard me say filthy, right? Tell him! Tell him ‘filthy!’”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” A young-looking theater attendant in a red vest stepped forward, wringing their hands nervously. “You’re disturbing the other customers.” 

“Wha- tell  _ him  _ to leave!” Hijikata pointed at Gintoki. “He’s disturbing  _ me!” _

“Sir, please don’t cause a scene.” 

Hijikata opened his mouth to hurl a rebuttal at the hapless theater attendant, but paused, rethinking, and then closed it again. “Fine,” he said, face contorted into a scowl. “Lets go, Yorozuya.” He grabbed Gintoki’s wrist and hauled him forcibly out of the theater. 

“H-Hey! The hell you doing? I’m not going anywhere with you!” complained Gintoki, stumbling slightly as he was yanked alongside Hijikata, whose hand was still closed like a vice around his wrist. 

“We need to talk.” 

“Like hell we do!” Gintoki tugged his arm away angrily, coming to a stop. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I want nothing to do with you or the Shinsengumi.” 

Hijikata gritted his teeth. A drop of sweat trickled down his cheek. “I’ll buy you a parfait.” 

* * *

 

The plastic bench of the family diner booth was hard and uncomfortable, and Gintoki shifted around restlessly across from Hijikata, who showed no such signs of discomfort. He sat, legs crossed in an almost dainty fashion, stirring his coffee impatiently. Despite him dragging Gintoki to the diner under the premise of wanting to “talk,” neither of them had said a word and were instead engaged in a cold war of sorts, each glowering at the other and waiting for them to make the first move. 

“Here you are, sir.” A waitress appeared, setting a large parfait down on the booth table. She hesitated, looked at Gintoki, to Hijikata, and then back to Gintoki. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I must have the wrong table.” 

“No, it’s mine.” Gintoki spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. 

“R-Right.” She flashed a nervous smile and departed hastily. 

“So.” Gintoki said, spooning a large portion of whipped cream into his mouth. 

“So?” repeated Hijikata, extracting a bottle of what appeared to be mayonnaise from the folds of his jacket and emptying half the contents into his coffee with a wet sputtering noise that sounded as if it belonged in a bathroom and not a family diner. Gintoki grimaced, making a gagging sound. 

“So, why did you drag me here.” It sounded more like an accusation than a question. 

“To talk.” 

“Then talk, dammit!” Gintoki shoveled cream and strawberries into his mouth with the fervor of a starving man. He reached for a glass of water, downed it, slammed it on the table, and belched loudly. “I don’t have all day, unlike a certain tax robber.” 

“Oh, please.” Hijikata slurped his coffee, which was at this point more of a mug of mayonnaise with some coffee added in. “You barely work at all. Besides,” he uncrossed and crossed his legs, “I’m on my break.” He stared at Gintoki for a moment, fingers drumming on the table, and then leaned back, lighting a cigarette. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get to the point.” 

“Thank god,” said Gintoki. “If I have to watch you consume that unholy abomination for much longer I’ll puke.” 

_ “Don’t,”  _ warned Hijikata, holding up one finger, “insult mayonnaise.” 

“It’s disgusting, you’re disgusting, and you should feel ashamed of yourself.” Gintoki licked cream from the spoon. “Honestly, what would your mother think if she found out her beloved Oogushi-kun is a filthy mayonnaise addict?” He waved the spoon at Hijikata admonishingly. “You’ll make your mother cry, Oogushi-kun.” 

“My mother is dead,” snarled Hijikata. “And my name isn’t Oogushi-kun.” 

Gintoki raised an eyebrow, but surprisingly kept quiet. 

“My name,” Hijikata continued, simmering with barely-suppressed rage, “is Hijikata Toushirou. Remember me yet, shitty perm?”

“Nope, can’t say that I do.” Gintoki inspected his parfait, picking out a strawberry and plopping it into his mouth. 

“Liar!” Hijikata shot to his feet, pounding the table with his fist. The whole diner fell silent. “Sure, ten years is a long time, but not  _ that  _ long! And I still remember you- you’ve got to at least remember  _ something!” _

“Maybe you just didn’t leave much of an impression.” 

“Bullshit!”

Gintoki shrugged.  “A lot can happen in ten years,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Hijikata sat down, suddenly aware that he was attracting the attention of several nearby customers. “Like what?”

Gintoki didn’t answer, suddenly very absorbed in his parfait. He gripped the handle of the glass parfait cup with more force than necessary, his knuckles white. 

“Like what?” repeated Hijikata, tone harsh. “Answer me, Yorozuya.” 

A drop of melted ice cream slid down the side of the parfait glass and Gintoki caught it on his finger, staring at it for a moment before licking his finger. He emptied the remaining contents of the glass into his mouth, burped loudly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up abruptly and sliding out of the booth. 

“H- Hey!” Hijikata called after him, downing his coffee and getting up after him. “Wait! Yorozuya!”

Gintoki paused. “Thanks for the parfait,” he said, not bothering to turn around. He lifted one arm lazily, held it in the air for a moment, then tucked it back in his yukata and left the diner. 

The bell on the door jingled merrily as he left, and Hijikata stood, frozen, staring at the spot where he had been a couple seconds earlier. 

“Sir?” The waitress from earlier tapped him on the shoulder. “Your bill.”

“Right, right.” Hijikata blinked, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, and fumbled in his jacket for his wallet. He glanced at the bill the waitress had handed him and nearly did a double take. “I, er- I think you gave me the wrong cheque,” he said shakily. 

She took it from him and inspected it, then handed it back. “Nope,” she said cheerily. “That’s the right one.” 

“There’s no way that’s the right cheque! It’s way too expensive!”

She cocked her head to the side. “I was told you offered to pay off Sakata-san’s tab. Was that incorrect?”

“Wha- who told you that?”

“Sakata-san did.” 

Hijikata’s hands clenched into fists. “That fucking permhead-”

“Sir, this is a family establishment! Please keep your voice down!”

“Lousy, rotten, son of a bitch-”

_ “Sir!” _

* * *

“Oi, Pops,” Gintoki slurred, slumped over the bar counter. He held out a cup, tiny in his large hand. “One more.”

The bartender, an older man in his sixties with a short gray beard, glanced over. “You’ve had enough,” he said, wiping a glass with a cloth. “Besides, we’re closing. Go home, Yorozuya.” 

“Don’ wanna.” Gintoki lifted his head slightly, peering into his empty cup as if it might magically refill itself. “At least give me one more shot,” he begged. “For the road.”

“We’re closed,” said the bartender firmly. “Go home.” 

“Yer no fun,” complained Gintoki, but he set down his cup anyway and slid off the barstool, digging a few coins out of his pocket and slapping them haphazardly on the counter before stumbling away into the night. 

He managed to get as far as three blocks (in the wrong direction) before vomiting and collapsing in a pile of trash bags, where he promptly passed out until Hijikata Toshirou found him three hours later. 

* * *

It was Sougo’s turn to do night patrol, but he had conveniently disappeared the hour before he was supposed to report to his station. He usually didn’t mind going on night patrol, so it had initially been a surprise when he didn’t turn up, but after spending ten minutes in the pouring rain at two in the morning trying desperately to get his soaked lighter to start, it wasn’t much of a surprise at all, thought Hijikata angrily, an unlit cigarette clamped between his lips. 

As Sougo’s direct superior, he had taken it upon himself to fill in for him and was now regretting it deeply, shivering under the corrugated metal awning of a closed snack stand and watching the rain pour off the awning and pool at his feet. 

He finally got his lighter to spark, but his cigarette proved to be too damp to light properly. He cursed and shoved the lighter back in his pocket. The sound of the rain was amplified under the metal awning, each drop like a rock, so that the heavy cascade of water sounded like an avalanche. A moth fluttered near his face and he swatted it away impatiently, stepping out from under the awning and continuing his patrol route. 

Shoulders hunched over, hands in his pockets, Hijikata walked, scanning the streets for any sign of crime or unlawful activity, but on a night as miserable as this one, hardly anyone was out. He contemplated quitting patrol and going back to headquarters early, and was about to turn back when he heard, barely perceptible over the deafening rain, a rustling behind him. 

He swirled around, hand flying to his sword, but the sound was only a drunk, collapsed on a pile of trash bags, rolling over in their sleep. He exhaled slowly, the adrenaline ebbing from his veins, and approached the trash heap. 

“Come on,” he said to the person, unable to make out their face in the dark. “Get up.” 

They didn’t move. 

Hijikata sighed, stepping a bit closer. He wrinkled his nose, the smell of vomit and rotten milk overpowering. “Hey,” he said, and shook the person’s shoulder. “Get u-”

Before he was able to finish the word, the person bolted upright, drawing a  _ bokuto  _ from their side and pressing it to Hijikata’s throat in a single move. It was a movement governed by pure instinct; they were clearly still very drunk, as evidenced by the slight tremor in their hand and their inability to focus their eyes. 

“Oh,” said Gintoki nonchalantly, as if he were running into an acquaintance at the supermarket. “It’s you. Something-kata-kun.” He blinked blearily at Hijikata, slipping his  _ bokuto  _ back into his belt with minor difficulty. 

“It’s Hijikata,” said Hijikata. 

“You should know better than to wake a man when he’s sleeping, Tsujikata-kun,” Gintoki chastised, waggling a finger admonishingly in Hijikata’s general direction. “What are you doing here, anyways? How’d ya get into my flat?”

“It’s Hijikata. And this isn’t your flat, idiot. It’s a garbage heap.” 

“How dare you insult my home, Dokata-kun!” Gintoki gasped, bringing a hand to his chest, affronted. “First you break in, wake me when I’m sleeping, and then ridicule my beautiful abode? The nerve! The police in Japan really are rotten.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Are you seeing this?” he asked a nearby milk carton. 

Hijikata groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re drunk, dumbass.” He held out a hand. “Here,” he offered, somewhat reluctantly. “Get up. I’ll take you home.” 

Gintoki eyed him suspiciously. “Why?” he asked. 

“‘Why?’” repeated Hijikata incredulously. “Because it’s raining and you’ll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer! Besides, there’s no way you can get home by yourself, not in that condition.” 

“‘M  _ fine,”  _ slurred Gintoki, waving a hand flippantly in Hijikata’s general direction. “I’m not even that drunk. See?” He made an attempt to stand up, but his knees buckled beneath him and he fell back into the trash heap with a defeated  _ oof _ . “Okay, so maybe I’m a  _ little  _ drunk,” he admitted, “But I sure as hell don’t need  _ your  _ help. I’ll go home when I feel like it.” 

“You’ll go home now,” threatened Hijikata, “or you can spend a night in the drunk tank. Your choice.” 

Gintoki eyed him warily for almost a full minute, before sticking out his tongue and dragging himself upright. “You’re an asshole,” he said, sounding like a child who has been told not to have any candy before dinner. 

“Right back at you.” Hijikata squatted down, holding out his hand. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.” 

* * *

The walk home took longer than expected, partially because Gintoki’s drunken directions kept leading them in circles, and partially because he was leaning heavily on Hijikata for support, slowing the both of them down. His left arm was thrown over Hijikata’s shoulders, who had one hand on Gintoki’s waist, fingers cold and light like feathers. 

Gintoki laid his head on Hijikata’s shoulder, eyes drooping. He had half a mind to chastise him, but the words caught in his throat and stayed there. The beating of his heart was like the sound of the rain pattering on the dirt road: loud, frequent, rapid. He wondered if Gintoki could hear it too; but comforted himself with the thought that he probably wouldn’t remember anything tomorrow. 

Hijikata wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. This was his job, he told himself. There was no reason for his face to be this warm, for his heart to be caterwauling in his chest, for his gait to be this clumsy. He did this sort of thing all the time; escorting drunks home was just one of his many duties as a policeman. So why was this time different? 

Was it Gintoki’s arm around his shoulders, hand fisted into the collar of his jacket, bicep against his neck, the weight both burdensome and comforting? Was it his face, so close to his own, breath hot against his chin? Was it the way his eyes, piercing even in his intoxicated state, would flit over ever so often to meet Hijikata’s, before softening and crinkling at the corners, as if they were smiling? Was it Hijikata’s hand on his waist, feeling beneath the drenched fabric of his kimono the tautness of his skin, the latent power in his muscles as they rippled with every movement? 

Or was it Gintoki himself who made Hijikata feel this way? 

* * *

It was still raining when they got to Gintoki’s apartment, water running in streams off the “Yorozuya Gin-chan” sign. It took them a while to get up the stairs, Hijikata guiding Gintoki with a chant of “left foot, right foot, left foot, right…” but they managed to get to the top with no injuries, which he considered a success. 

“Where are your keys?” asked Hijikata, glancing over at Gintoki, who was at this point practically unconscious. 

“Pocket,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. “Right pocket.” He made no move to get it himself. 

Hijikata drew a shaky breath, his heart beating so fast he felt almost faint. “Right,” he said, swallowing nervously before reaching his hand around and slipping it into Gintoki’s pocket.

“Excuse the, er, intrusion,” he said, not really sure what the proper thing to say at a time like this was, or if there even was any societal protocol for sticking one’s hand in a drunk man’s pants to fish around for his keys. 

He found the keys successfully while also managing to avoid making any accidental indirect contact with Gintoki’s crotch and withdrew his hand as quickly as if he had been burned. He was grateful for the dark cover of night to hide his red face. It was a marvel there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears, he thought, unlocking the door and sliding it open. 

Gintoki stomped inside, making it three feet before collapsing in the entranceway, not bothering to remove his shoes. Hijikata wavered, standing at the doorway, rain beating down on his head. To follow him in would be a violation of protocol. Yet, looking down at Gintoki’s unconscious form, drenched and miserable, Hijikata couldn’t help but feeling sorry for the man. He sighed, a dreadful feeling in his gut that he would somehow come to regret this, and stepped over the threshold and into Gintoki’s apartment. 

* * *

It was extremely dark inside Gintoki’s apartment, and Hijikata felt along the walls for a switch but found none. He flipped open his phone, using the faint blue light from the screen to untie Gintoki’s bootlaces. He tugged them off his feet with difficulty, greeted by a damp, musty smell. Hijikata grimaced. 

“Your feet stink,” he said. 

Gintoki grunted in response, prostrate on the wooden hallway. 

“Wash your damn feet more often,” Hijikata admonished, taking off his own shoes and peeling off his socks, wringing them out and balling them up next to his boots. He grabbed Gintoki by the underarms and hauled him upright, struggling under his weight. Slinging his arm back over his shoulders, Hijikata dragged Gintoki into the living room, locating a light switch and turning it on. The room was cleaner than he had expected but sparse; two green couches sat opposite each other in the middle of the room, a low-set coffee table abundant in stains, scratches, and mysterious dents inbetween them. At the window was an old, beat-up desk and a similarly beat-up chair, a framed scroll with the characters “sugar content” hanging on the wall above the desk. In the corner was an old television, a fine layer of dust on the top. Hijikata had always sort of known that Gintoki was poor, but never fully realized it as fact until now. The few dilapidated furnishings which looked as though they had been salvaged from a dumpster or the side of the road, the lack of shutters, the broken electric fan sitting neglected in the corner, all served to help Hijikata understand how he lived. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked. 

Gintoki drooled on his shoulder. 

“Where’s your bedroom, dammit?” Hijikata flicked Gintoki’s cheek, trying to rouse him awake. “Oi!”

A closet door which Hijikata hadn’t noticed slid open and he started at the sudden noise. A red-headed girl clad in pink pajamas clambered out of the closet, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Nestled in the crook of her arm was a yellow stuffed rabbit, its ears drooping limply. 

“Gin-chan?” she yawned, her eyes clouded with sleep. She blinked. Stared. Blinked again. 

“You’re not Gin-chan,” she said, an accusatory tone in her voice. She glanced over at Gintoki, draped haphazardly over Hijikata, a small puddle forming beneath him on the floor. 

“No, I’m not,” said Hijikata. “I’m, er-”

“I know you,” she said. “You’re that stalker cop.”

“I’m not a stalker,” Hijikata said, affronted. “I’m Hijikata.” 

“You sound like Zura,” she said, squeezing her stuffed rabbit. Hijikata was not sure who she was referring to, but decided not to ask. 

“You’re Kagura, right?”

“I usually go by ‘Your Majesty,” she preened, “but Kagura is okay, too.”

Kagura looked at Gintoki. “Is he dead?” she asked. 

“No,” replied Hijikata. “Just drunk.”

“Oh,” she said. “Darn.” 

Gintoki began to slip from Hijikata’s shoulders, and he struggled to maintain his hold on him even as he sunk towards the floor. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, and then felt his ears grow warm, realizing he had just sworn in front of a child. Kagura, however, didn’t seem to notice, or if she did she didn’t care, stepping forward, bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. 

“I got him,” she said, yanking his arm. 

“No, it’s okay,” said Hijikata hurriedly. “You couldn’t possibly-”

He broke off, staring in mixed fear and awe as she lifted Gintoki into her arms, bridal style, with almost no effort. “Oh,” he said, feeling immensely foolish. 

“I got him,” she repeated, barely visible behind Gintoki’s massive body. 

“Right,” said Hijikata slowly, pursing his lips. He wondered briefly if he was dreaming. “Where’s his bedroom?”

“Behind that door.” She pointed to a door to the right of the closet from which she had emerged. 

“Thanks,” said HIjikata, opening it and stepping inside. She followed, her tiny body dwarfed behind Gintoki, and laid him down on a threadbare futon. Hijikata rolled him onto his side, propping him up with a pillow. 

Kagura wrinkled her nose. “He smells,” she complained, pinching her nose. 

“I found him in a trash heap.” 

“How did you tell him apart from the rest of the trash?” 

Hijikata wasn’t sure whether to laugh or answer seriously. He had never been great with kids, and this girl was no exception.  _ Please God, _ he issued a silent prayer. _ Let this be a dream. Wake me up! _

He did not wake up. He remained frightfully awake. 

“Does he do this often?” he asked, busying himself with undoing Gintoki’s belts.  _ Why did he have so many belts? What did he need them for?  _

“All the time,” she grumbled. “See my bunny?” 

Hijikata glanced at the toy. 

“This is the fifth one,” she complained. “He puked on the others.” She sniffed contemptuously, hugging the bunny to her chest. “He’s a useless, stinky, drunk old man. He never pays me, his feet smell, and he leaves boogers everywhere. He’s the worst boss ever!”

“He’s your boss?” Hijikata glanced at her quizzically. “He’s not your…?”

“Slave? No, he’s not my slave, though it might look that way. He’d make a shitty slave.”

“...Father,” clarified Hijikata. “I meant father.” 

Kagura recoiled in disgust. “No!” she exclaimed. “He has too much hair.”

Hijikata was not sure what hair had to do with being the father of a child, but decided not to question her. He tugged off the last of Gintoki’s belts and began to pull off his kimono. 

“Don’t take any more of his clothes off,” Kagura advised, crouching next to Hijikata but not helping. “If he wakes up without clothes on he freaks out.”

Hijikata nodded, sliding the kimono out from under Gintoki. He grunted and mumbled something in his sleep, but didn’t wake. 

“And leave his sword next to him,” she added, picking at her toenails. “He can’t sleep without it near him.” 

The image of teenaged Gintoki sleeping upright while clutching his sword flashed through his memory. “He really hasn’t changed,” Hijikata muttered. He hadn’t realized he had said it aloud until he looked up and saw Kagura staring at him, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Nothing,” he said, quickly. “Forget it.” 

“Why? Because you don’t want me to know? Or because you don’t want  _ him  _ to know?” 

“Brats shouldn’t ask so many questions.” He bundled up the sodden kimono. “Where can I hang this up?”

“Shower,” she answered offhandedly, peering at Hijikata with an expression that made him extremely uncomfortable. “How do you know Gin-chan?” she asked innocently, though there was a curious glint in her eyes. 

“Don’t ask about things that don’t concern you. Didn’t Yorozuya teach you any manners?”

“Nope,” she denied cheerfully. “Gin-chan says manners were invented by rich people to stop poor people from taking their food.”

“He would say something like that,” grumbled Hijikata. “Where’s the shower?”

“Down the hall, to the left.” She followed him down the hall, still clutching her stuffed rabbit, and watched as he hung the dripping kimono in the shower, hanging his jacket next to it as well. Her stomach growled loudly.

“I’m hungry,” she complained. “Gin-chan didn’t come home to make dinner. I haven’t eaten since this afternoon.” 

Hijikata turned around, his hands on his hips. “He didn’t feed you?” he asked incredulously. 

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head. 

Hijikata clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “That irresponsible scumbag.”

* * *

And so Hijikata found himself cooking fried rice in an unfamiliar kitchen at four in the morning, watched eagerly by a small girl who every so often would comment disparagingly, 

“Gin-chan doesn’t do it that way,” or, “That’s not enough eggs. Gin-chan always adds three eggs, not two,” or, “If you try to sneak in any of your stinky mayonnaise I’ll break your kneecaps.” It was a thoroughly harrowing experience, and by the time the ordeal was over, he almost felt sorry for Gintoki for having to raise such a precocious child. 

“Here,” he said, setting down a heaping bowl of steaming fried rice in front of Kagura, which she instantly scarfed down, not bothering to let it cool first. The meal which he had spent twenty minutes cooking vanished in a matter of seconds. He wondered how such a small child could have such a huge appetite as he watched her lick stray rice grains from her fingers.

“Seconds,” she demanded, holding out the now empty bowl. 

Hijikata sighed, chin in hand, hunched over the coffee table. “That was everything, kid,” he said. “There’s no more.” 

“But I’m  _ hungry,”  _ she protested, frowning in petulant disobedience. 

“Too bad.” 

She crossed her arms, tossing her head angrily. “Gin-chan’s fried rice is better anyway.”

“That so.” Hijikata yawned, eyelids drooping. He inspected his watch. It was four-forty in the morning. He had to get back to the barracks soon, or they might think something had happened to him during patrol. “I should get going,” he announced, rubbing his face with his hands. “Go brush your teeth.” He looked up, to see that she had already fallen asleep, her head tilted to one side, snoring slightly. 

He groaned, massaging his temple with his fingers, and got up. Somewhat awkwardly, he heaved her up by her underarms and swung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, walking over to the closet she had come out of and sliding open the door. The closet had been made up in such a way that the shelf had been repurposed into a bed, and he pulled back the blanket and lay her down as gently as possible, tucking in her yellow rabbit besides her. He felt strange about it, tucking in someone else’s kid into a bed in a closet, but he couldn’t just leave her on the couch like that. She rolled over in her sleep, mumbling something about seaweed, and Hijikata slid the door closed quietly, heaving a sigh of relief. 

He figured he’d better check on Gintoki before he left, in case he had rolled over in his sleep. He couldn’t say he was incredibly fond of the man, but letting him drown in vomit would certainly be regrettable. Thankfully, he was still sleeping soundly, curled up on his side, knees pulled into his chest like a child. In one hand he clutched his sword. He looked a lot younger while asleep- softer, more at peace. Hijikata squatted down beside him, a nervous fluttering in his chest. He felt guilty, almost, and his nerves were telling him to leave immediately, but for some reason, he stayed. 

Without meaning to, his hand moved on its own, reaching out to pet Gintoki’s hair. His brow furrowed and he stirred slightly. Hijikata withdrew his hand instantly as if burned, fearing he had woken him, but he remained thankfully asleep. He made to stand up and leave, but felt a tug on his shirt and turned to see Gintoki had reached out, clutching the hem of his shirt. 

“Don’t leave me,” he muttered, the sound barely audible. His face twitched slightly. 

Hijikata sighed and sat back down, arranging himself into a cross-legged position. 

“Don’t leave,” Gintoki repeated, fingers tightening around his sword, “Shouyou-Sensei.” A shudder ran through his body.

Hijikata drew a sharp intake of breath. Feeling guiltier than ever, as if he were seeing something he shouldn’t, he reached out tentative hand and patted Gintoki’s hair again, the movement stiff and awkward. Instantly Gintoki’s body ceased to tremble and convulse, and Hijikata continued the movements, thumbling through his curls like a devoted mother. He could feel his ears growing red again, and he felt slightly queasy, his chest tight. It seemed almost as though there were a lack of oxygen in the room and Hijikata unbuttoned his collar, drawing a shaky breath. He continued to stroke Gintoki’s hair until his fist had relaxed around his shirt hem enough for him to stand up. 

Hijikata exited the room as silently as he had entered, closing the sliding door with a light tap. He grabbed his jacket from where it was hanging in the shower and shrugged it on, ignoring the fact that it was still damp. He left in a hurry, chest pounding, the sensation of Gintoki’s hair still vivid on his fingertips. 

_ His hair really  _ is  _ fluffy,  _ he thought, and lit a cigarette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no chapter. Sorry for the wait. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, especially the parts with Hijikata and Kagura. I find their interactions in the manga/anime delightful, like in the Yagyu Arc, and wanted to include that in this fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and continue to enjoy the story. The next installment should be posted in about a month or so.


	8. Kamakko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gintoki gets a visit from an old friend, and Hijikata reluctantly dabbles in crossdressing.

Gintoki awoke with a start. Pain beat a steady rhythm on the inside of his skull and he clutched his head in his hands as if trying to hold it together. The sun streaming in through the window was far too bright and he blinked several times to accustom himself to it. There was a pillow against his back, and his neck ached from being twisted at a strange angle while asleep. 

For some reason, he was damp. He panicked briefly, thinking he had perhaps wet himself, but thankfully, that proved to not be the case. Trying to piece together the fragments of memory left behind from last night, he threw off the blanket and ran through a cursory search of his body. His clothes were still on, although inexplicably wet, and he couldn’t find any damning marks that could indicate certain inappropriate acts, and lay back down, heaving a sigh of relief. 

He was in his own room, which was always a good thing; and though he couldn’t remember how he had gotten there, he could at least rest assured that nothing too awful could have happened last night. Someone had placed a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin next to his futon; Shinpachi, perhaps, although it was oddly considerate of him. Feeling in relatively good spirits despite his crippling hangover, Gintoki unscrewed the top and plopped two pills in his mouth, downing the whole glass of water in a single gulp. Already feeling a bit better, he set down the empty glass next to the bottle, and noticed a small scrap of paper under the bottle. Frowning, he picked it up and unfolded it, bringing it close to his face so he could read it.

The handwriting was extremely neat, the characters meticulously written. For some reason it pissed him off. 

_ Good morning,  _ the note started off.  _ I left some aspirin and water next to you. Don’t spill it.  _

Gintoki eyed the empty glass suspiciously. He could feel his good mood diminishing by the second. 

_ Your kimono is hung up in the shower to dry. You should wash it properly though, I think you puked on it. Actually, please wash your entire body. Pay special attention to your feet. They stink. It’s unbecoming of a grown man. _

“The hell?” exclaimed Gintoki, despite his hoarse throat. His fingers curled into the paper, causing it to wrinkle.

_ Also, take better care of your kid. I made her fried rice and she ate it all. When was the last time you fed her? You should be ashamed of yourself.  _

Gintoki crumpled up the note and raised his arm, preparing to toss it in the corner of the room, then hesitated. He lowered his arm slowly, in an almost guilty fashion, smoothed out the note, and continued to read, gritting his teeth angrily. 

_ In the future, try to consider your position as a parental figure before you decide to get drunk and pass out in a trash heap. How do you think Kagura feels, having to see you like this? It’s a disgrace.  _

_ Signed, Hijikata Toshirou.  _

Gintoki groaned. Of course it was  _ him.  _ No one else was that self-righteous and annoyingly involved in his personal affairs to the point where he wasn’t sure if he’d rather deal with Sarutobi than a cop whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to follow him around and catch him at his worst moments. 

_ PS,  _ the note continued,  _ I borrowed your umbrella. I’ll return it the next time I see you. Alternatively, call me to get it back.  _ Written below was a phone number which Gintoki vowed to never call. He crumpled the paper into a ball and flung it across the room. It bounced off the wall and rolled into the corner next to a pair of discarded socks. 

“I should have puked on him when I had the chance, dammit. Goddamn busybody,” he announced, to no one in particular. 

The door to his room was thrust open violently and Kagura barrelled into his room with the energy of a barrel of caffeinated ferrets. “Gin-chan!” she cried, seizing his blanket and tossing it in the air. “Wake u- oh. You’re up already,” she said, an air of disappointment in her voice. 

“Keep your voice down,” grumbled Gintoki, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I’m hungover.” 

“Zura’s here,” she told him, ignoring his complaint. Her bubbly voice pierced his ears and when Gintoki stood up, pain rang dully in his skull as if someone had used his head as a gong. 

“Don’t let him in,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“He’s already inside. I gave him your strawberry milk but he won’t drink it. He says it’s unbefitting of a samurai.” 

“You gave him  _ what?”  _ Gintoki shoved past Kagura and into the living room. Katsura, seated on the green couch opposite him, raised his head slightly and greeted him with a smile. 

“Gintoki!” He stood up and held out his arms, as if expecting a hug. Gintoki ignored him and plopped down on the couch opposite him, crossing his legs ankle-to-knee and stretching out, arms across the back of the sofa. 

“Zura,” he said, meeting his eyes coolly. 

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” replied Katsura, faltering and seating himself again, a slightly dejected expression on his face. 

“Why are you here?” Gintoki ignored him. Kagura sat down on the couch beside him, imitating his posture and position. 

“Yeah, Zura,” she said, sticking out her chin. “Why are you here?”

“I come bearing an offer and a request.” Katsura picked up the glass of strawberry milk Kagura had offered him, sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and set it down again. Gintoki narrowed his eyes. “And it’s not Zura,” he added. “It’s Katsura.” 

“I’m not joining your little terrorist club, if that’s what you’re here for,” said Gintoki, voice chilly. 

“It’s not a terrorist club,” Katsura shot back, offended. “We’re  _ freedom fighters.”  _

Gintoki arched an eyebrow. “Freedom fighters?” he repeated. “Who bomb embassies and terminals?”

Katsura stiffened. “No one was killed or harmed.” 

“I was.”

“That was an accident. The bomb was not meant to go off.”

“Then why did you have it in the first place?”

Katsura’s posture, ramrod straight, drooped slightly. “I didn’t come here to fight, Gintoki,” he said, after a moment’s pause. 

“No,” Gintoki agreed. “You came to  _ recruit  _ me.” 

“And is that such a bad thing?” Katsura leaned forward slightly. “The government is corrupt.  _ Edo  _ is corrupt. The Amanto have infiltrated our country; they control the shogun and subjugate the populace to unspeakable indignities. We fight to restore Japan to her former glory- to free her from the shackles of the Amanto!” His voice swelled with passion, the words tumbling from his mouth in a frenzy. “And with you, the  _ Shiroyasha-” _

“Don’t call me that,” Gintoki snapped, startling Katsura out of his tirade. 

Kagura goggled at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. He had never spoken with that tone of voice before, at least not in front of her, and the man who sat beside her on the couch now seemed a completely different person from the lazy, playful Gintoki she knew. His posture was tense, jaw tight, and his body radiated strength and anger, like that of a warrior. Perhaps he noticed her surprise, for he shifted somewhat and his body language softened, his gaze dropping to his knees. 

“Here,” he said, voice back to normal. He rummaged around in his pocket and drew out a damp, wrinkled thousand-yen bill. “Go buy toothpaste,” he said, handing the money to Kagura. “Get something for yourself with the change.” 

She took the money tentatively, watching him curiously. There had to be something wrong with Gintoki, for him to act this way. Was it the hangover? Was he sick? Perhaps an imposter had snuck in last night while they were sleeping and replaced Gintoki. Perhaps-

_ “Go,” _ repeated Gintoki, slightly harsher than before, and Kagura bolted off the couch, the bill clenched in her fist. She scampered out the door, not needing to be reminded twice. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” commented Katsura, hearing the door slam shut. “That can leave a lasting impression on a child, you know. As her parent, you should-”

“I’m not her parent.” Gintoki rubbed his forehead tiredly. 

“Still-”

“Leave it, Zura.” Gintoki reached over and grabbed the glass of strawberry milk, draining it in one gulp. 

“That was mine,” said Katsura, affronted. 

Gintoki cocked an eyebrow. “Were you going to drink it?”

“No, but-”

“Then there’s no problem. It was mine originally, anyways.”

“A grown man shouldn’t drink such sugary drinks. It’s unbefitting of a samurai. It’ll rot your teeth and then your brain.” 

“Don’t nag me, your brain is already rotten.” The corners of Gintoki’s lips twitched, the tension that had been radiating from him ceasing somewhat. 

“Gintoki,” Katsura started, leaning forward again, his hands on his knees. “Why do you resist?”

“Resist joining your fun terrorist club?”

“Freedom fighters,” Katsura interjected, but Gintoki waved his hand dismissively. 

“What difference does it make? You’re still officially a terrorist organization. It’s like calling porn ‘adult entertainment.’ It sounds nicer, but doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a spank bank.”

“You always were so crude, Gintoki.” The corners of Katsura’s eyes crinkled, smiling. “It’s good to see you haven’t changed in that regard.” 

Gintoki arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t changed in  _ any  _ regard.” 

Katsura shook his head, his long tresses flowing from side to side with the movement. “You _have_ changed,” he insisted. “The old Gintoki would not hesitate to take up arms with his friends for the sake of the country.” He spread his arms out wide, a valley between his hands. “What I fight for- what _we_ fight for- is the same thing we fought for ten years ago! For the sake of the country, for justice, for-”

“What  _ you  _ fought for,” interrupted Gintoki, expression stony. “Not once did I fight for the sake of this rotten country.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. A muscle in his jaw twitched. 

“Then what  _ did _ you fight for?” Katsura asked quietly. 

“To protect,” Gintoki said. “To protect Shouyou-Sensei, to protect you and the other students of Shoka Sonjuku.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And I failed. Sensei is dead. The other students are dead. You and I are the only ones left.”

“You didn’t fail, Gintoki,” said Katsura softly. “There was nothing you could have done. Besides, I’m still alive. As far as I know, Sakamoto and Takasugi survived. And you, the  _ Shiroyasha  _ live! You can still-”

“The  _ Shiroyasha  _ is dead!” Gintoki snapped. “He was executed December thirteenth, 1858 by Ikeda Yaemon the 17th! Who I am now is just Yorozuya Gin-chan- nothing more!”

“You can’t deny the past forever, Gintoki! Sooner or later it’ll catch up to you. You must learn to accept it!”

“Says you!” scoffed Gintoki. “You’re trapped in the past, trying to relive it! What do you think you’re doing, building up an army and trying to fight the government?! We  _ lost!  _ There’s nothing more we can do! You were always the smartest of us, why can’t you get that into your thick skull?”

“The people of Edo are suffering, how can I  _ not?”  _ protested Katsura. “I will not rest until I witness the dawn of a new Japan!”

“This country has always been rotten, Zura, and it always will be! You can’t change that! You couldn’t when you were fifteen, and you can’t now!”

“I will not give up!” Katsura slammed his fist against his thigh, fury burning in his eyes. “Not like you have.” 

Gintoki gave a snort of indignation upon hearing that, but said nothing, staring down Katsura, his normally dead eyes as sharp as steel. 

“What happened to you, Gintoki?” Katsura looked pained. “These past ten years- what happened to make you like this?”

“Nothing happened to me,” Gintoki scoffed, exasperated. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” 

Katsura frowned. “Who else is asking you that?”

“No one. Doesn’t matter,” Gintoki deflected quickly. He could imagine the sort of fuss Katsura would make if he found out Gintoki had any relationship short of ‘enemies’ with a member of the Shinsengumi, let alone its vice-commander. Which brought him back to wondering what exactly his relationship with Hijikata  _ was.  _ They definitely weren’t friends, but they were more than acquaintances, seeing as Hijikata had apparently brought him home drunk last night, even going so far as to tuck him into bed and feed Kagura. 

Normally Gintoki would feel repulsed, as if his home had been desecrated, but for some reason, he didn’t feel that way at all, only a slight annoyance at Hijikata’s self-righteous note. He wasn’t entirely sure why, and that bothered him somewhat. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Hijikata had already seen him at his worst- young, wounded, vulnerable- and anything short of that was no big deal; but even at that time, it had felt strange. He was an enemy of the state, injured and separated from his comrades- it would have been easy for Hijikata to alert the authorities, to have him taken away and killed. Yet he hadn’t, and had instead tended to his wounds, fed him and kept him company. 

Even ten years later, it made no sense to Gintoki. Why had he been shown such kindness when he was clearly undeserving? At first, he had assumed it was a ploy to get him to lower his defenses. But as Hijikata kept returning to his side, day after day with food and bandages, Gintoki had no choice but to begrudgingly admit that he must just be a belligerent fool. And now it seemed that Hijikata was still that same fool, forcing his way into his life despite Gintoki’s best efforts to deter him. 

Initially, Gintoki had thought that Hijikata was going to arrest him, throw him back in jail to be executed for his involvement in the war. It was what any sensible cop would do. And yet it seemed that was not the case. Gintoki wasn’t entirely sure  _ what  _ Hijikata wanted from him, but he could at least rule out death or arrest, seeing as someone who wanted him dead would not be so kind as to escort him home and put him to bed, even leaving aspirin and water for him. 

Or perhaps he really  _ did  _ want to kill Gintoki, but was just a psychopath.

A really, really nice psychopath. 

(With a sweet ass.)

Gintoki shook his head, mentally kicking himself, and forced himself to return to his conversation with Katsura.

* * *

As it turned out, Katsura’s offer was (unsurprisingly) for Gintoki to join his Joui faction. His request was different. He wanted a job. 

“Terrorism isn’t free,” he had said with a shrug when Gintoki had asked why the hell he was coming to  _ him  _ of all people to ask for a job, which didn’t really answer his question, but Gintoki decided not to push it because his headache was in full throttle now and the aspirin wasn’t kicking in yet. 

Gintoki said that there was no way Katsura was joining the Yorozuya, but he did know of a place that was always hiring.

And so it became that Katsura joined Gintoki at Mademoiselle Saigou’s club  _ Kamakko. _

* * *

_ Three Weeks Later _

Hijikata eyed the report suspiciously. He looked up at Yamazaki, who was fidgeting nervously in front of his desk. 

“You’re sure about this.” It was not a question. 

Yamazaki gulped. “Yes.” 

“So he’s really been spotted exiting this-” Hijikata took a moment to look back at the report, “-this gay drag bar,  _ Kama- Kama-” _

“ _ Kamakko,  _ sir.”

Hijikata glared at Yamazaki. “- _ Kamakko,  _ no less than  _ four  _ times?”

“That’s correct, sir.” 

Hijikata frowned. “Maybe it’s some kind of trick. Trying to throw us off his tail.”

“That’s what I thought at first, sir. But it seems he didn’t know he was being watched.” 

Hijikata leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep draw from it. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then opened them again, smoke filtering out from his nostrils, clouding him in a haze. “So Katsura Kotarou has a thing for crossdressers,” he mused. He grinned, suddenly- a cruel smile without a hint of warmth in it. There was a strange glint in his eye. 

“We can use this.”

* * *

When Hijikata had said that, he had originally thought of running a stakeout and ambushing Katsura as he left the club. But when he told Kondo, he seemed to have a different idea. 

“Let’s do an undercover operation instead,” he’d said, crossing his arms and nodding thoughtfully. “Someone gets a job at the club, flirts with Katsura a little, gets him drunk maybe, and then mines him for information. That way we get all the Joui factions, not just Katsura.” 

It was a good plan, Hijikata had to admit, albeit begrudgingly. A good plan up until the bit where someone had to crossdress and flirt with a known terrorist. Yamazaki was their best undercover agent, but there was no way he’d be able to look good enough in a dress to get a job as a crossdresser. Sougo maybe could, but he didn’t trust him to not take Katsura to some abandoned warehouse and torture him (which, admittingly, was what Hijikata would have liked to do as well), and so the job fell to Hijikata. 

Which brought him here, to the backdoor of the gaudily lit up club  _ Kamakko,  _ his hand shaking ever so slightly as it hovered in a fist over the door, preparing to knock. He swallowed, gathered his pride and ran it through a woodchipper, and knocked. 

No response.

He waited a minute, and then knocked again, louder.

This time, he heard someone call, “Coming!” and a moment later, the door opened and he stared up into the heavily powdered face of Sakata Gintoki. 

* * *

“Uh,” he said. 

“Um,” Gintoki said back. He stared at Hijikata for a moment. “What are you doing here?”

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Hijikata shot back. 

Gintoki blinked, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Working,” he said. 

Hijikata looked him up and down. He was wearing a pink yukata, his face covered in what seemed to be several pounds worth of thick makeup, contoured with the intention of providing a more feminine appearance but what had the adverse effect of making him look more like a deformed fishman straight out of the imaginations of Cronenberg than a woman. Attached to either side of his head were clip-on ponytails. “I see,” said Hijikata, slowly, trying to process this information. 

Gintoki tilted his head, picking earwax from his ear with his pinky. “So?” he asked, withdrawing his finger and looking at it disinterestedly. “What about you?”

Hijikata swallowed. “I’m here to ask for a job.”

Gintoki raised his eyebrows. “A job,” he repeated incredulously. “The Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi wants to get a job at Mademoiselle Saigou’s. Is this some sort of prank? A punishment game? Or is this just your secret hobby?” He grinned. “Wait till the tabloids hear about this. The famed Demon Vice-Commander has a fetish for crossdressi-”

“Don’t-” Hijikata warned through gritted teeth, mouth curled into a snarl. “-you  _ dare _ tell anyone.” His eyes darted around, making sure they were alone. “This is an undercover operation,” he hissed. “Got it?”

Gintoki scoffed. “Then why isn’t that kid- whatshisface- Jimmy here?”

“Yamazaki doesn’t look good in a dress.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Hijikata tried to brush past him and get into the building, but Gintoki placed a hand against his chest, preventing him from entering. 

“Why are you  _ really  _ here?” he asked. 

“I  _ told  _ you,” Hijikata grabbed Gintoki’s wrist, trying to move his arm. It didn’t budge. “An undercover operation.”

“Against who?”

“What does it matter?”

“Tell me or I won’t let you in.” 

Hijikata clucked his tongue irritably. “Fine,” he spat out, taking a step back. “Katsura Kotarou has been spotted leaving this club. I’m to pose as a girl here and get information from him.”

To his chagrin, Gintoki laughed. “Well,” he said, “good luck with that.” 

He stepped aside, and allowed Hijikata to enter the club.

* * *

Why exactly Gintoki had let him in when he seemed to be friends or at least acquaintances with Katsura (judging from the embassy bombing incident) Hijikata didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to waste this chance. He was led through a second pair of doors, arriving in what appeared to be a dressing room. The room was split into two parts by a gauzy curtain, one half obscured from view. The side Hijikata could see was cleaner than expected, but cluttered with discarded pantyhose, fabric scraps, and makeup items. Several stools sat in front of a low counter upon which even more makeup was scattered haphazardly, a mirror on the wall above each stool. 

“Agomi!” Gintoki called, and a tall woman (or man, Hijikata wasn’t entirely sure) with an extremely protuberant chin and bright red lipstick stepped out from behind the curtain. 

“It’s _ Azumi!” _ they snapped at Gintoki, voice a low growl, and a second later turned to face Hijikata, eyelashes fluttering in a manner clearly meant to be seductive and said in a high, feminine voice, “And who might  _ you  _ be?” 

“I’m, er,” Hijikata racked his brain for a convincing fake name and came up empty-handed. 

“He’s Toshirou,” Gintoki interrupted, placing a hand on Hijikata’s shoulder. “He wants a job.” 

“Oh?” Azumi’s smile grew wider, and they eyed him like a predator watching his next meal. “Is that so,  _ Toshirou-san?” _

Hijikata gulped. “Yes,” he said, acutely aware of Gintoki’s hand on his shoulder. Somehow, it made him feel slightly more confident. “Yes,” he repeated. “I am.” 

Azumi stroked their chin thoughtfully. “What are your measurements?” they asked.

Hijikata blinked. “Huh?”

“Your  _ measurements,”  _ they repeated, exasperated. “Bust, waist, hips.”

“I…” Hijikata looked down at himself. “I don’t know.”

They sighed irritably. “Height?”

“One hundred and seventy-six centimeters.”

“Same as Paako, then. Can you walk in heels?”

“Not well,” answered Hijikata honestly. “But I can.” He heard Gintoki give a little snort behind him and he elbowed him in the ribs.

Azumi shrugged. “You’re hired.” They turned to Gintoki, who was wheezing, clutching his chest. “You brought him here, so you show him around and get him dressed. I’ll take care of the makeup. Got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gintoki waved a hand nonchalantly. Hand still on Hijikata’s shoulder, he steered him towards the curtain, lifting it slightly. “Ladies first,” he smirked, and Hijikata shot him a glare before stepping under.

The other side of the room consisted mainly of clothing racks upon which dozens of colorful costumes and kimonos hung. There were three other men in various states of undress- one with a wig cap on, carefully shaving their legs; a short man adjusting his hip pads, and another in just their underwear, leafing through the racks of clothes. A vaguely familiar looking woman (no, they must be a man, Hijikata realized, though he found it hard to believe) in a blue kimono stood by the wall, combing long black hair with his fingers, head tilted to the side. 

“Zura,” Gintoki called, and the long-haired man looked up.

“It’s not Zura,” they said, sounding annoyed, though they were smiling slightly. He shook his hair out of his face, revealing high cheekbones and a straight, sharp nose. “It’s-” His eyes fell on Hijikata and he took a step back, eyes growing wide. “It’s Zurako,” he finished, shooting a panicked glance at Gintoki.

“This is Toshirou,” introduced Gintoki, nonplussed. “He’s going to be working here today. You said you weren’t feeling well, so you should go home. He can take over your shift.” He tilted his head slightly, meeting Zurako’s gaze. Hijikata looked back and forth between the two of them, not entirely sure what was going on.

Zurako stared intently at Gintoki for a full minute and then said, slowly, “Yes. I think I’ll do that. Thank you, Gintoki.” He departed quickly, leaving the room with nothing but a faint whiff of his perfume. 

“What was that?” Hijikata asked once Zurako had gone. Gintoki ignored him, searching through the clothes racks. He picked out a dark blue kimono and held it up. 

“What do you think about this?” he asked. He held it in front of Hijikata, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

“It’s fine,” Hijikata dismissed. “What  _ was _ that, Yorozuya?”

“I’m Paako here,” Gintoki reminded him. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” warned Hijikata. “Who is Zurako? It seemed like he knew me.” 

“Must be your imagination.” Gintoki held up a second dress, comparing the two. After a minute he threw the second one to the side. “This one’s better,” he said. “Don’t you think? Goes with your eyes.” 

“I-” Hijikata blinked, surprised. “What? I- I mean, I don’t give a shit about dresses, why are you asking me?”

Gintoki  _ tsk _ ed. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m goin’ out on a limb to help you here, and you’re just shitting all over me. Uncool, Toshiko. Uncool.”

“Who’s Toshiko, dammit?” snarled Hijikata, hand instantly flying to his hip for his sword before he realized with a jolt he didn’t have it. 

Gintoki smirked. “You are. Now put on the dress, Toshiko.” He tossed the dress to Hijikata, who caught it, scowling. 

“Why’re you helping me?” he asked. 

Gintoki shrugged. “Dunno. Thought it’d be funny, I guess.” 

Hijikata stared at him a minute before turning around and getting dressed.

* * *

The kimono was a deep navy with a gold pattern, and was more comfortable than Hijikata had expected. The garters and white thigh high socks Azumi had lent him cut into his thighs somewhat, but didn’t hurt, although it was a strange feeling he wasn’t used to. He sat on a stool, tension running through his shoulders, eyes tightly closed, as Azumi applied makeup to his face, another unfamiliar sensation. After what felt an eternity, Azumi said, 

“You can open your eyes now.” 

Hijikata opened his eyes and stared into the face of his sixteen-year old self. He felt his mouth fell open and brought a shaky hand up to his face to touch himself, but Azumi slapped it away, chiding,

“Don’t do that! You’ll mess up my hard work.” He tossed his head, and Hijikata caught a glimpse of a hairy mole on the underside of his elongated chin. 

“I- What did you do?” asked Hijikata. He swallowed. At least his voice still sounded the same. 

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Azumi preened. “I put down a light foundation, just to even out your skin tone, set it with powder, and then put on a teensy bit of eyeliner and some mascara to make your eyelashes more pronounced. I finished off with some blush and lip gloss, and put a black ponytail hair clip on to give the illusion of long hair.” He leant forward, brushing back Hijikata’s bangs. Hijikata suppressed the urge to jerk away. 

“You’re already so  _ pretty,” _ Azumi continued, “so I decided not to go overboard with the makeup and enunciate your natural beauty. So?” He smiled proudly. “What do you think?” 

“Um,” said Hijikata. He wasn’t entirely sure  _ what  _ he thought. He certainly looked more feminine, so much so that it scared him somewhat. 

“Oi, Paako!” Azumi yelled suddenly. “Come ‘ere and look at Toshiko!”

“No thanks!” he heard Gintoki call back, from another room. “I don’t want to get nightmares!”

Azumi snarled. “Wait here,” he said, patting Hijikata’s shoulder, and left. He reappeared a moment later, dragging Gintoki by the elbow. 

“Tell me what you think,” said Azumi, placing a hand on his hip and gesturing with the other. “Turn around, darling,” he said in a softer tone, directed at Hijikata. He turned slowly, unable to shake the sensation of impending doom. 

Fully expecting to be ridiculed, Hijikata brought his eyes up to meet Gintoki’s with trepidation, but Gintoki was just staring at him, mouth agape. His face was pale, as if he had seen a ghost. 

“You look-” he croaked, and then squeezed his eyes, shut, shaking his head. He swallowed, and turned to face Azumi. “He looks good,” he said, two pink spots blooming on his cheeks. “Really-” he cast another quick glance at Hijikata, the pink spots darkening, “-really nice. Good work.” He patted Azumi on the back stiffly, and scampered out of the room. 

“Well,” said Azumi cheerfully, “I’d say that was a good reaction. Wouldn’t you?”

* * *

Since it was his first day, Hijikata was only delivering drinks to tables. Katsura was nowhere to be spotted, so it wasn’t exactly a problem. However, when someone he recognized entered the club around ten that evening, Hijikata headed to his booth and sat down next to him before any of the other girls could. Gintoki, cleaning glasses behind the bar, spotted him and raised his eyebrows, but didn’t stop him.

The customer was a high-ranking diplomat from the Japanese embassy named Takizawa, in charge of Amanto trade relations. Hijikata recognized him from a case he had worked four years ago, where the Shinsengumi had worked with the embassy to intercept drug shipments from Amanto pirates. He had sensed something fishy about Takizawa then, but was unable to do anything. Now that Hijikata had a chance to learn something, he wasn’t going to pass it up. 

“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” Takizawa remarked, scooting over a bit so that Hijikata could sit down. 

Hijikata faked a giggle, covering his mouth with his hand coquettishly. He could smell the alcohol on Takizawa’s breath and could tell he was already inebriated, he just needed a little extra push. 

“So, what do you do?” asked Hijikata, angling himself so that his legs touched Takizawa’s. 

The man was porkish and ruddy faced, his fingers thick like sausages, and he reminded Hijikata horribly of an old boar that had been used for mating purposes at one of the farms in his hometown. They had called the boar “Tatsu” for his near-constant erection, and he had been responsible for most of the piglets that were born. 

Takizawa grinned widely at his question and leaned in. Hijikata noticed one of his molars was gold. It glinted in the dim light of the club. “Super-secret government work,” he whispered jokingly, hot breath hitting Hijikata’s ear. 

“Oh,  _ wow!”  _ Hijikata widened his eyes, trying to look innocent. “Like what, exactly?”

“Nosy, aren’t you?” Hijikata froze, worried he’d blown his chance, but then Takizawa grinned again and patted his knee. “Why don’t you get me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

* * *

Two whiskeys later and Takizawa’s mouth had loosened considerably. An unfortunate side effect was that he had also become exponentially more handsy. His right hand, which had initially been placed on his knee, had slowly snaked its way up his leg and was now resting on Hijikata’s thigh, giving him the occasional squeeze. 

Hijikata fought back the urge to vomit and continued asking questions, although he was getting nowhere. Takizawa had become more talkative, but nothing he was saying was helpful and Hijikata was considering calling it quits and possibly breaking a finger or two (just one couldn’t hurt, right?) when Takizawa mentioned, seemingly out of nowhere, his “business connections” with the space pirates. 

“Space pirates?” Hijikata blurted incredulously, and then quickly corrected himself, batting his eyelashes. “Isn’t that, like, scary?”

“No, no,” dismissed Takizawa. He squeezed his thigh again and Hijikata found himself overcome with the sudden desire to bash his skull in with the ashtray sitting on the table in front of them. “They’re not scary, not when we-” he hiccuped, “-have such a good, you know, arrangement. I give ‘em what they want, an’ get, well,” he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, the universal symbol for ‘cash.’ “Let’s jus’ say I get what I want an’ they get what they want.” 

“That must be, like, so cool,” Hijikata gushed. “What do you do for them?” 

“I’m very important,” Takizawa boasted. “Important to their whole  _ organization.  _ You know business, don’t you, sweetheart? Where there’s a supply, there’s a demand, an’ I- well, I provide the supply. They bring the demand.” He made a broad gesture just then, and his whisky glass spilled, liquid flowing over his lap and soaking into his pants. 

“Oh, dear,” he said lightly. “Could you get that for me, sweetheart?”

Hijikata’s stomach churned, but he forced a smile, teeth gritted so tight his jaw was beginning to ache, and leaned over to dab at Takizawa’s lap with a napkin. He felt his hand move from his thigh to his behind, stubby fingers grabbing his buttocks and was sorely tempted to just punch him in the crotch right then and there, but managed to stop himself. 

Dabbing at Takizawa’s lap with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, Hijikata distracted himself by fantasizing about all the ways he’d torture Takizawa for information later, once they had more proof. He’d string him upside-down by his ankles for hours, he’d press hot irons on his fleshy buttocks, he’d dunk him in icy water over and over…

Takizawa, the bastard,  _ squeezed,  _ and Hijikata saw red, his body trembling with the effort of containing his murderous rage. This was not the first time he’d degraded himself for the purpose of obtaining information or funds for the Shinsengumi, nor was it the farthest he’d ever gone (by a long shot), but it was no less infuriating than any of the other times. 

Then, suddenly, Takizawa’s hand was gone. 

“You seem to have forgotten we have a strict no touching policy here,” Gintoki said, with a smile so cold and filled with vitriol even Hijikata felt a chill run down his spine. He was gripping Takizawa’s hand, bending his pinky finger back farther and farther until a loud  _ crack  _ resounded throughout the club. Takizawa howled in pain. 

“I wasn’t- wasn’t doing anything!” he cried, chins wobbling.  _ “He  _ was-”

Another  _ crack,  _ and his ring finger was twisted at the wrong angle. 

“Please,” he sobbed. “I won’t do it again!”

Gintoki ignored him, snapping his middle and index fingers one after the other. “Now you won’t,” he warned, and released Takizawa’s now-mangled hand. “Get out,” he spoke, seething with silent fury, and Takizawa didn’t need to be told twice. 

He turned to Hijikata, extending a hand to help him up. He didn’t take it, getting up on his own and dusting off his yukata, wobbling slightly in his heels. 

“You okay?” asked Gintoki, strangely considerate. “I’m sorry about tha-” He broke off as Hijikata grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the dressing room. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ was that?” Hijikata demanded. “I was so close to getting what I needed! You ruined everything!”

“Wha-” Gintoki gaped at him, face a perfect mix of confusion and anger. “You’re  _ mad  _ at me?”

_ “Yes!  _ I had everything under control until  _ you  _ just had to step in and play the fucking  _ hero!” _

“He was- that bastard was  _ molesting  _ you, and you’re fine with that?”

Hijikata crossed his arms defensively. “I was not being  _ molested,”  _ he scoffed. “He was just a little handsy. It’s not the worst thing I’ve done for information.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Gintoki this, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy his expression, stricken with shock and rage, just a little bit. 

“That’s-  _ you’re- _ fucked up,” spat Gintoki, face contorted. “I can’t believe I thought-” he broke off, shaking his head slightly, lips pressed together. 

“Can’t believe you thought what?” Hijikata taunted. A faint voice in the back of his head warned him that he shouldn’t be egging Gintoki on, but he ignored it. Rage that had built up inside him while he had been groped by that pig Takizawa was now bubbling out, seeping through his pores, and if he didn’t find someone to direct it at, he thought he’d burst. He was fed up- with Gintoki, with his feigned ignorance of their past, with his endless mysteries, with how he felt around him- and now all that pent up frustration was finding its release. 

“I can’t believe I thought you were a somewhat nice guy,” Gintoki forced out. “You know, with what you did for me and Kagura a couple weeks ago. Most people wouldn’t’a done that.” A strange expression flitted across his face momentarily, before disappearing, replaced with pure, unfettered rage. “Guess I was wrong. You’re just a sick bastard who doesn’t give a shit about anyone except yourself and your  _ precious  _ Shinsengumi.” 

“And you’re a lazy, useless drunk with a shitty perm,” Hijikata shot back. “If you’ll excuse me.” He made to leave, but Gintoki grabbed his arm, halting him. 

“Don’t come back here again,” he warned. “I don’t want to see your face for a while.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” said Hijikata. “The feeling’s mutual.” He jerked his arm away and changed behind one of the clothing racks. “Here’s your stupid dress,” he said, tossing the blue kimono-  _ it matches your eyes- _ at Gintoki, who made no effort to catch it, instead staring at Hijikata as it fluttered to the floor like an overgrown butterfly. His face was blank, empty, and Hijikata couldn’t gauge his expression. 

Not knowing what to say, he settled for, “Thanks for your  _ help,”  _ and immediately regretted it. Eager to escape, Hijikata turned on his heel and left the room. 

“You’re fucked in the head, ya know that?” Gintoki called after him, and secretly, Hijikata agreed. 

* * *

“How was the investigation, Vice-Commander?” Yamazaki asked, greeting Hijikata back at the Shinsengumi headquarters. He did a double-take as Hijikata turned on the light, revealing his made-up face. “You look, uh.” He coughed into his fist. “Nice.” 

Hijikata glared at him. “Get me all the files you have on the Takizawa that works at the Japanese embassy. Now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no chapter! Sorry about that. I don't really have any excuse apart from that I've been busy with work and haven't had much motivation to write lately. I've figured out the plot and outlined the rest of the story though, and it should have around 14-15 chapters, so we're about halfway finished with this fic! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! A huge thank you to everyone who comments, it really inspires and invigorates me to write more and just makes the whole arduous writing process about fifty times better, so thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and continue to enjoy this fic!


	9. Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijikata searches for leads on his new case, and Gintoki recalls an unpleasant memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, because the next part works best as a separate, longer chapter. I hope you don't mind. 
> 
> Content Warning: torture (check tags for details)

Hijikata thumbed through the sheaf of papers, oil lamp burning dangerously low. A cigarette lay forgotten to the side, balanced delicately on the edge of an already overflowing ashtray. He had been going through all the files the Shinsengumi had on Takizawa for the past four days, and come up empty-handed. He had dug through the employment records first, then his taxes going back twenty years, then his diplomatic record at the embassy, but they were all as clean as a whistle. Cursing under his breath, Hijikata lit another cigarette, not realizing he had an unfinished one right next to him. WIth how loose with his information Takizawa had been back at the drag bar, it made no sense for all his paperwork to be so boring and innocent. There had to be dirt somewhere, Hijikata felt it in his bones. He just had to keep digging. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hijikata yawned. His head ached dully, whether from lack of sleep or all the cigarette smoke that was swirling around in his small office he didn’t know and didn’t care. He was halfway through Takizawa’s publications file, which had clippings and printouts of every news article, police report, or legal proceeding that mentioned him or his work. It was long and arduous work, something he’d usually have Yamazaki or some member of junior staff take care of for him, but in this case, where he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, he didn’t trust anyone but himself to do the job properly. Taking a drag from his new cigarette, Hijikata flipped the page and saw something that caught his eye. It was a newspaper clipping from eleven years ago- a small article, barely a quarter of the page. 

**JAPANESE-AMANTO EMBASSY SECRETARY MISSING** ,  the title read, and with trembling fingers, Hijikata picked up the paper and brought it close to his face, scouring the page for additional information. According to the article, Takizawa’s private secretary had gone missing. At the time of the article, she had been missing for two weeks. What stood out especially to Hijikata, however, was that the officer in charge of leading the investigation was quoted as suspecting kidnapping from space pirates, though a reason wasn’t given. Takizawa, however, didn’t seem to share their beliefs, at least according to the reporter who wrote the article. 

_“She’s probably just run off somewhere,” he was quoted. “You know how young girls are- flighty, impulsive. If you ask me, she must have met a man and eloped. It’s all the rage with girls these days.”_ The reporter had found his apparent lack of concern strange, and Hijikata had to agree.

“Yamazaki!” he yelled, and a few moments later he heard the pattering of footsteps, followed by a hesitant knock on his door. “Come in,” he said, and the door opened. 

Yamazaki coughed as the air from Hijikata’s room, which was more carbon dioxide and nicotine than actual oxygen, flooded his lungs. “Yes, Vice-Commander?” he asked, thumping his chest. His eyes watered. 

“Get me all the missing persons reports for for females, dating back since twelve years ago,” Hijikata commanded, eyes glued to a piece of paper crumpled in his hand. He looked strangely triumphant. 

Yamazaki wavered.  _ “All  _ of them?”

Hijikata’s eyes flitted up from the paper to glare at him. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-No, sir.” Yamazaki exited the room as fast as he could, wondering vaguely if Hijikata’s lungs were made of steel. 

* * *

Gintoki yawned, leaning back in his desk chair. His ass had long since fallen asleep, and he shifted in his seat, trying to redistribute blood flow. It was late July, and the heat, especially in the cramped confines of his apartment and workplace, was nearing unbearable. Kagura had commandeered the last working  _ senpuuki,  _ and Shinpachi had long since retreated to the coolness of his sister’s air-conditioned home, leaving Gintoki to sit in front of the open window and hope to catch a wandering breeze. 

His eyes drooped and he pinched his leg, hard, trying to wake himself up, even in the oppressive summer heat. To say he had not been sleeping well the past few weeks was an understatement; every time he so much as nodded off, memories came flooding back to him in his dreams, memories he’d rather forget. 

Floating in through the open window, he heard the melodic voice of a street vendor call, “Sweet potatoes! 100 yen a pop! Sweet potatoes! 100 yen a pop! Sweet potatoes…” and he yawned again, eyelids closing as if weighted with lead. 

“Sweet potatoes, 100 yen,” the street vendor sang, and Gintoki found himself carried off to sleep on the back of the vendor’s lullaby. 

* * *

He awoke, no longer in his uncomfortable chair with the threadbare cushions in the Yorozuya office, but a cell, the floor and walls rough stone save for one, which was comprised entirely of thick iron bars. His hands were tied behind his back with coarse rope, his shaggy sixteen-year-old hairdo left untrimmed for far too long and tickling his eyes. He kept trying to shake it out of his eyes, but every movement his head made caused white-hot pain to flare at his temples, his brain rattling around in his skull. There was a rash all along his upper right chest, stark red against his skin, deathly pale as he had not seen the sun in what felt like years but what was more likely months. It itched dully but he could not scratch it, not with his hands tied behind his back. They never removed the rope, not even when he was alone in his cell. 

He heard two sets of footsteps approach his cell, and the jangling of keys, but did not bother lifting his head. He knew what they were there for. 

Sure enough, the door to his cell creaked open, and a pair of hands grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upright. He staggered to his feet, keeping his head down, watching his feet as he walked. He knew where they were taking him- by now, he knew the way by memory. 

The room was dark and vaguely damp, and smelled of blood and piss and mildew. A single square window, placed around seven feet above the floor, was the only light source in the room. Somewhere outside, a bird was singing. 

Placed in the center of the room was a rusty tub, filled with water. Gintoki was shoved to his knees unceremoniously in front of the tub, the rough stone floor cutting into his flesh. 

“You know how this goes,” said one of the jailers. “Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?” 

Gintoki wet his lips. “I don’t know,” he answered, because he didn’t. The jailer sighed. 

“Alright,” he said. “Do it, Shimada.” 

The jailer standing behind Gintoki- Shimada- grabbed a hunk of Gintoki’s hair and forced his head down, into the tub, and held it there. Gintoki held his breath for as long as he could, which was not very long, and then spluttered, bubbles erupting from his nose and mouth, his lungs on fire. Instinctively, he bucked against his captor, but it only served to make him lose oxygen faster. He inhaled water and choked, but there was nothing to choke on but more water. Panic kicked in and his hands strained against the ropes binding them, trying to reach the edge of the tub so he could pull himself up, but the bonds held fast. His chest hurt, his head hurt, his throat and nose hurt- his body was an endless chasm of pain. 

And then he was being pulled up by the hair. He retched, body convulsing, coughing water and mucus up on the slick stone floor. He gasped, gulping down as much air as he could take, lungs rattling like an empty can filled with pennies. 

As if from a distance, he heard his interrogator ask, “Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?” 

Gintoki didn’t bother answering, focusing instead on delicious, precious  _ air,  _ savoring the feeling of his lungs inflating. Shimada slapped his face once, twice. “Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?” he repeated, and Gintoki met his eyes, staring into them dully. 

“I don’t  _ know,”  _ he told him. Shimada clucked his tongue irritably and took him by the hair again, shoving his face violently into the tub again. The second time was worse- sparks of white-hot pain flared through Gintoki’s skull, erupting behind his eyes as his lungs filled with water for a second, agonizing time. Like before, just as he was drifting towards the welcome throes of unconsciousness, he was dragged back to life to gulp down as much air as he could before the inevitable next round. 

“Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?” he was asked again and again, and every time, his answer was the same, because he truly, honestly,  _ did not know.  _ Their parting after Shouyou’s death had not been a pleasant one. He suspected his jailors knew this, but orders were orders and they had been tasked with extracting information, never mind if there was no actual information to be extracted. 

The torture persisted. Gintoki went under three, four, five times before he stopped counting and started trying to just stay sane.  _ Focus on something else,  _ he told himself as his body seized instinctively against the water that was clogging his lungs.  _ When was the last time you were happy?  _ **_Think._ **

A series of images flashed through his mind- a small clearing in a forest, a bubbling stream ripe with fish, the awkward grin of a gangly black-haired youth with blue eyes and a quick fist.

_ Hijikata.  _ Biting into a clumsily-made  _ onigiri  _ and twisting his face as the sour taste of the  _ umeboshi  _ exploded on his tongue.  _ Hijikata.  _ Tussling in the dirt, a ruthless smirk as he punched Gintoki in the nose.  _ Hijikata.  _ Removing the band holding his ponytail up and letting his hair flow down over his shoulders, a cascading jet-black waterfall. 

“Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?”

“I don’t know.”

_ Pain. Pain. Drowning.  _ **_Hijikata._ ** _ Pain. _

“Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?”

“I don’t know.”

_ Water. Pain. Lungs, deflating.  _ **_Hijikata._ ** _ Pain.  _

“Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?”

“I don’t know.” 

_ Pain. Pain. Undending, agonizing,  _ **_pain._ **

* * *

“Gin-chan?”

Gintoki awoke with a start. For some reason, his face and chest were wet. Kagura was standing in front of him, an empty glass in her hand. 

Oh. That explained the wetness. 

“Wh-What’s up?” Gintoki croaked, trying to sound casual. He put a hand on his chest to steady himself, paying attention to the rising and falling of his chest as he tried to remember how to breathe. 

Kagura frowned. “You were having a nightmare.” 

“No I wasn’t,” Gintoki denied quickly. He rubbed his jaw. It was sore from being clenched while asleep.

Her eyes narrowed, blue slits in a moon-pale face. “You kept saying ‘I don’t know,’ and were breathing funny. It was weird.” 

“I was having a dream that there were these blue monkeys who kept insisting I had stolen their bananas when I hadn’t. They were asking me where they were, and I was telling them that I didn’t know.”

“You sounded kinda scared.” 

“The monkeys were very aggressive. Did I mention they were blue? Because they were blue.”

“Were their bananas blue too?”

“I dunno, I wasn’t the one who stole them.” Gintoki stretched, his joints popping, muscles strained after being tensed from his nightmare. 

“Well, who did?”

“I  _ don’t know.  _ God, you’re worse than the monkeys.” 

She smiled then, easing up somewhat. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He waved her off. “Go play outside with Sadaharu or something.”

“Okay!” Kagura brightened up and bounced off, the dog padding silently after her, a large white shadow. 

“And don’t tell Shinpachi!” Gintoki called after her. 

“Got it, yup!” The door slammed and Gintoki waited a couple moments before taking a deep breath, reorienting himself. He could still hear a disembodied voice demanding the whereabouts of Takasugi Shinsuke, could feel the ghost of Shimada’s hands on him.

Gintoki peeled himself from the chair, skin sticking slightly to the back of it with sweat, and headed towards the bathroom. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature so that it was cold. He took off his clothes and stepped in, but after a couple seconds of water dripping down his head and chest, filling his nose, he turned it off and staggered out, overcome with nausea. He lurched violently as he hurtled towards the toilet, falling to his knees in front of it and retching with all the strength he could muster. 

_ What happened to you, Gintoki?  _ Gintoki recalled Katsura asking. _ These past ten years- what happened to make you like this? _

_ Wouldn’t you like to know,  _ he thought bitterly, and vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is around where the story will start getting a bit heavier. A lot of Gintama fic write about or feature Gintoki's trauma from the war, but I don't think there are many about what happened to him after the war. I'm really fascinated with that part of his life (if you can't tell already lol) and I wanted to explore that in this fic. 
> 
> I'm also wanting to write some short one-shots and such, if anyone has any requests or prompts for a one-shot or a ficlet, I'd really really appreciate hearing them! Smut, whump, angst, fluff- everything's open! You can write them in the comments, or alternatively, message me on my tumblr, exquisiteshit.tumblr.com. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments!!! See you next chapter!


	10. Some Things Never Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gintoki makes some bad decisions, Otose always knows best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence

“It’s h _ooot,”_ Kagura complained, swinging her feet back and forth. She was perched on the green couch in front of the TV, a popsicle colored an unnatural electric blue clenched in her right hand. It was already melting even though it had just been unwrapped, a small trickle of blue ice dripping down her hand. She licked it up and bit off the top of the popsicle, screwing up her face as the cold hurt her teeth.

“Hottest day of the year,” Shinpachi commented. His glasses slid down his nose, beaded with sweat, and in an exasperated manner he pushed them back up, only for them to fall down again. “Ketsuno Ana talked about it on the morning forecast.”

Gintoki, sprawled out across the opposite couch, an old copy of _JUMP_ covering his face, merely grunted in response. Shinpachi grimaced at Kagura, who shrugged in response, attacking her popsicle with vigor.

Even the mention of Ketsuno Ana, it seemed, was not enough to rouse Gintoki, who had been uncharacteristically silent and morose lately.

“I know!” Shinpachi said, pushing up his glasses with one finger. “Let’s go to the pool!”

_“No.”_

Gintoki said the word with such finality that Kagura looked away from her popsicle and stared at him, surprised, the popsicle hanging out of her mouth.

“I- I mean,” Gintoki backtracked, plucking the _JUMP_ off his face and pushing himself upright, “the pool’s nasty. It’s all full of pee, you know. It’s not even cold, just lukewarm pissy water. _And_ it costs money.” He folded his arms, nodding to himself. “If you want to swim in piss-water, go to the beach. The beach is free.”

“But we don’t live anywhere near a beach!” complained Kagura. “What are we supposed to do?”

Gintoki shrugged. “Do something else. Break a fire hydrant or something. Brats like that kind of stuff.”

Immediately Kagura perked up. “Okay! I’ll go find one and kick it’s head off!” She saluted sharply and ran off, calling, “C’mon, Sadaharu!”

“Wha- _hey!_ Do _not_ break a fire hydrant, it’s illegal!” Shinpachi yelled after her. He turned to Gintoki, placing his hands on his hips like an angry mother. “What the hell are you telling her, Gin-san?!”

“What’s the problem?” Gintoki waved a hand dismissively. “Decapitating fire hydrants is all the rage this summer. It’s what the young folk are doing. Get with the times, Shinpachi.”

“It’s _illegal!”_ Shinpachi pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “What are you going to do if she gets arrested?”

“She’s just a brat. They don’t arrest brats.”

“They do, too! Gin-san, she could get in serious trouble.” Shinpachi sighed, exasperated. “I’m going to go stop her. When we get back, why don’t we just go to the pool? It’s not as if it’s _that_ expensive, and we got paid yesterday from that roofing job. Summer’s rough on Kagura because it’s too hot for her to go out normally like the other kids. Taking her to the pool would make her really happy, Gin-san. Think about it.”

With that, Shinpachi left, leaving Gintoki alone in the apartment. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbed at his temples with his fingers.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck.”

* * *

As was the norm with Kagura, Gintoki heard her enter before he saw her.

“I could have done it, Shinpachi,” she was complaining. “Why’d you stop me? I was so close!”

“Close to committing a crime!” Shinpachi chastised.

“You’re no fun,” Kagura pouted. “That’s why you’re-” She entered the living room and stopped dead, a grin spreading across her face. Gintoki was standing in the middle of the room wearing swimming trunks, a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. In one arm was a yellow inflatable inner tube.

“What are you waiting for?” Gintoki said. “Go get your swimsuit on. We’re going to the pool.”

“Gin-chan, you’re the best!” She leapt forward and hugged him tightly, her small arms wrapped around his waist.

Gintoki patted her back awkwardly, feeling himself relax somewhat, despite his anxieties.

 _Maybe this won’t be so bad,_ he thought.

* * *

Gintoki stood at the edge of the pool, acutely aware of the wet concrete beneath his feet, the acrid smell of chlorine, the light reflecting off the pool, burning into his corneas. In front of him Kagura splashed gleefully, unaware of the inner turmoil roiling through Gintoki’s brain.

 _It’s just a pool,_ he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _What kind of samurai are you, afraid of a little water?_ He willed himself forward, but his body was frozen.

“Gin-chan?”

Gintoki opened his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and settle himself. “Huh?”

“You alright?” Kagura had ceased her splashing and was watching him, eyes uncharacteristically wide with concern.

“What’re you yammering about?” Gintoki feigned nonchalance. “I’m just watching. You know, in case you drown or something. Lifeguard duty and all that.”

“But there’s an actual lifeguard right there,” Shinpachi pointed out, unhelpfully. Internally, Gintoki cursed him, vowing not to let him in next time he came over to escape his sister’s cooking. He could starve, the damn busybody.

“Come _on,_ Gin-chan!” Kagura whined, splashing a bit of water at him. “Shinpachi’s useless at Underwater Sumo Wrestling! I’ll never become _yokozuna_ at this rate!”

“Hey!” Shinpachi protested. “I won that one time!”

“That was because I got water up my nose. It doesn’t count.”

“It does, too!”

Despite himself, the tension slowly leaked out of Gintoki’s shoulders, his rigid posture relaxing somewhat. He could do this. He could get in the pool. As long as he didn’t get his head underwater, everything would be-

“Come _on!”_ Kagura reached up and grabbed his ankles, pulling him down into the pool. In a flash, he was enveloped in water, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nostrils. Taken by surprise, the air was knocked out of his lungs and he struggled for air but there was none, he couldn’t breathe- couldn’t breathe- couldn’t-

He was hauled upright by his armpits and his feet found purchase on the pool bottom. He choked, spluttering, the sudden presence of air a shock.

“Are you alright?” someone was asking him, but he barely registered the words. _Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?_ echoed all around him, and even though he was no longer drowning his breaths came short and ragged, accompanied by a sharp pain in his chest.

“Sir?”

 _Where is Takasugi Shinsuke? Where is Takasugi Shinsuke? Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?_ **_Where is Takasugi Shinsuke?_ **

“I don’t know,” Gintoki gasped, clawing at his chest. “I _don’t know,_ make it stop-”

“Gin-chan?” There was a pressure around his middle and Gintoki looked down. Kagura was hugging him, eyes shiny with tears, wet hair sticking to her face in disarray.

“I’m sorry, Gin-chan,” she sobbed, squeezing painfully tight around his waist. “I forgot you can’t swim!”

“It’s okay,” Gintoki forced out, resting a hand on her head. The feeling of her hair beneath his fingers grounded him, and the tightness in his chest began to subside, his lungs inflating. He took several long, deep breaths, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. “It’s okay,” he said again. The voices were gone.

“I’m okay,” he said, stroking Kagura’s hair, and he was.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur: though he was exhausted, Gintoki managed to have a good time playing in the water with Shinpachi and Kagura, though he was careful to never get his head wet or underwater. Kagura became underwater sumo wrestling champion, to no one’s surprise, and Shinpachi dropped his glasses at the bottom of the pool, prompting a round of “Shinpachi is dead” jokes that amused everyone except for Shinpachi himself, who was still trying to insist that he was a person and not a pair of glasses attached to a human. Eventually the glasses were retrieved and though Shinpachi pouted a bit, he brightened up when Gintoki promised to make curry rice for dinner, his favorite.

Everyone went home hungry, tired, and happy, and the incident of Gintoki ‘drowning’ was forgotten. Gintoki felt a strange sort of pride at the achievement: it could have been worse, and in the end, everyone had a good time. It wasn’t _that_ bad, he told himself. In the past, it had been worse, and incidents such as that one were more frequent. He was getting better. He _was_ better.

And so, when August came and Kagura approached him; asking, pleading, begging if this year, just this once, _please,_ if they could go to the summer festival; against his better judgement, Gintoki said yes.

* * *

“You’re a fool,” Otose said, refilling Gintoki’s glass. “A damn fool. What the hell were you thinking?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Gintoki, more to convince himself than Otose, who was looking down her nose at him in the way one might look at a dog who has rolled in raccoon scat. “I went to the pool a while ago. The _pool._ And I was fine.”

“Kagura said you almost drowned in three feet of water.” Otose took a long drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke in Gintoki’s face. “You weren’t drowning, were you,” she stated.

Gintoki clicked his tongue irritably. “I thought she forgot.”

“You’re lucky she thought it was just because you can’t swim. Even then, she was scared sick. How do you think she’ll handle it if you have a-”

“She won’t have to handle it, because it _won’t happen.”_ Gintoki’s grip tightened around the glass slightly. He brought it to his lips but didn’t drink. “I’m not like I was when we met seven years ago. The pool was just a fluke.”

Otose eyed him for a moment suspiciously. “Some things never change, Gintoki. You of all people should know that.”

“The hell does that mean?” Gintoki demanded, downing the rest of beer and slamming the glass down on the wooden countertop.

“I think you know what it means,” she replied loftily, tapping her cigarette lightly against an ashtray with a light _tink,_ the metal of the old-fashioned cigarette holder flashing in the dim light.

“I think you overestimate me.” Gintoki belched, holding out his glass. “Seconds,” he demanded.

Otose shot him a stern look. “You’ve had enough.”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“How unusual for you. And here I was beginning to think it was your default.”

“Maybe we should celebrate,” Gintoki suggested wryly, a corner of his mouth snaking upwards. He raised his glass, angling it for her to pour him more. “To my newfound sobriety.”

“Maybe you should pay your damn rent instead of getting drunk.”

Gintoki shrugged. “The money goes to you anyway, what do you care?”

“You never pay, and either way, I’m wasting good booze on a shitty brat who probably can’t tell the difference between Strong Zero and Asahi Super Dry.”

Gintoki had the gall to look surprised, inspecting his empty glass as if there might miraculously be a couple drops left. “This is your good booze? No wonder business is bad.”

“Oh, no, I’ve been watering down your drinks for years.” Otose flicked ash into the ashtray nonchalantly.

“Stingy old hag.”

“Shitty brat. Pay your rent once in a while and maybe I’ll let you have some denki bran.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Gintoki eased off the stool, throwing some coins haphazardly on the counter. “I’m more of a shochu kinda guy.” He left, the scent of summer grass flowing in from the door he forgot to close. Otose moved forward and counted the coins: thirty-six yen.

“Shitty brat,” she tutted, and stabbed out her cigarette.

* * *

Sougo yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth with his hand. “Why are we doing security for the festival again this year? It’s pointless. Nothing ever happens, and I never get to kill anyone.”

“For the cotton candy,” Yamazaki supplied, a caramel apple in one hand and a stick of dango in the other.

“To protect Otae from miscreants and win her eternal love,” offered Kondo, one hand on his sword as he scanned the crowd of festival-goers, eyes narrowing as he spotted a group of young men with bleached-blond hair and piercings.

“You’re all wrong.” Hijikata flicked his lighter once, twice, three times, trying to get it to spark. He had a testy edge to him, more so than usual, his jaw clenched tight and shoulders stiff. “We’re here to make sure there are no terrorist attacks on the festival, and to apprehend any if we see them. They often let their guard down at festivals, so it’s a good chance to catch them. _Not_ to stuff our face with sugary shit, Yamazaki, so throw that garbage away in thirty seconds or you’ll be slitting your belly tomorrow morning.”

Yamazaki choked on the apple and spit it out, discarding it hastily and wiping his hands on his uniform before saluting sharply, caramel still smeared around his mouth.

“That goes for you too, Sougo. No stopping for snacks or chatting, you’re on active duty, understand? Sougo, listen, dammit!”

Sougo ignored him, chewing loudly on bubblegum with his mouth open, looking off at something in the distance. “Oh, hey, it’s _danna,”_ he remarked tonelessly, blowing a large pink bubble.

Hijikata, in the midst of lighting his cigarette, made a strange choking noise, missing his cigarette with the flame and setting his finger on fire instead. He blew it out quickly, sticking his hand in the _temizuya,_ garnering a glare from a nearby shrine maiden.

“Yorozuya?” Kondo perked up, oblivious to Hijikata’s reaction. “Is Otae with him?”

“Nah, just him, glasses, and the China girl.” The bubble popped, leaving pink residue smeared on Sougo’s chin and upper lip. He licked it off, continuing to chew with a wet noise designed to irritate Hijikata, proven time and time again to be incredibly effective.

“Oh.” Kondo deflated visibly, and then perked up slightly as he got an idea. “Hey, Tosshi, why don’t you go say hi to Yorozuya? You two are close, right?”

Hijikata choked on his cigarette, smoke erupting from his nostrils and mouth as he doubled over, coughing. “We,” he hissed, straightening up, a look of visceral disgust on his face, “are not. _Close.”_

Kondo looked surprised. “Really?” he said. “That’s a shame. I have a feeling you two would get along well.”

Hijikata sniffed contemptuously. “Your feeling must be wrong. There’s no way we’d ever get along- he’s a lazy, smelly, lying alcoholic. I have nothing to say to the likes of him.”

“You wound me, Oogushi-kun.” An irritatingly familiar voice drawled from behind him, and suddenly Hijikata found Gintoki’s arm slung over his shoulder, his body close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the alcohol in his breath as he spoke.

“Good.” Hijikata tried to make his tone as harsh as possible. He elbowed Gintoki in the ribs. “Get off, you reek of booze.”

“Says the guy who stinks of nicotine,” complained Gintoki, but he moved all the same, swaying unsteadily on his own two feet. He had clearly had a drink or two in him, not enough to be fully drunk, but enough to make his speech slightly slurred. “What’re you doin’ at the festival in uniform? Shouldn’t you be out enjoying yourself? You know, holding hands with some lady, kissing under the fireworks, gettin’ some down by the trees behind the shrine- that’s what summer’s about. Though I guess you wouldn’t know much ‘bout having fun with the ladies, Hijikata-kun.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Hijikata felt his ears grow hot and coughed, trying to compose himself. “I’m here to catch criminals, terrorists like your _friend_ Katsura.” He squared his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Ooh, how scary,” Gintoki mocked, throwing up his hands in fake surrender. He leaned forward, placing one hand on Hijikata’s right shoulder and murmured in a voice like velvet, “You going to arrest me, _officer?”_

Hijikata snapped upright, feeling unwanted heat spread from his ears to his toes. He made to shove Gintoki off of him, but he had already stepped back, releasing Hijikata, cackling to himself.

“Your _face,”_ he laughed, and raised an arm in farewell. “See ya, Hijikata-kun.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off into the throng of people, swaying slightly as he walked.

“Bastard!” Hijikata called after him, face still burning red, chest twisting uncomfortably, but his voice was lost in the crowd.

* * *

Hijikata caught several more glimpses of Gintoki that night, though he didn’t approach him, only observed from afar. During their short exchange, he had noticed something _off_ about Gintoki that he couldn’t quite explain- a slight tremor to his hands, a distant look in his dead eyes.

Watching him from a distance, at first glance he appeared normal: arguing about something with Kagura and the glasses kid whose name Hijikata could never remember; buying and consuming an unholy amount of cotton candy, candy apples, and other assorted sweets; playing at festival game stalls and winning a large stuffed rabbit, which he gave to Kagura. But through all of this, he kept reaching for his sword, whether on purpose or unconsciously, as if to verify it was still with him. Every so often he’d scan the crowd warily, and his posture was tensed instead of its usual slouch.

There was definitely something wrong, Hijikata concluded. Perhaps Gintoki knew of a potential threat, or an attack that was meant to take place. Not wanting to raise an alarm, Hijikata decided to follow him from a distance for the rest of the night.

* * *

He would be fine. He _was_ fine. He could do this, for Kagura, for Shinpachi.

Ignoring the roiling sensation in his gut, Gintoki extracted a small flask from the folds of his kimono and unscrewed the top, taking a quick swig. The alcohol burned down his throat, imbuing in him a heated confidence.

“Gin-chan!” Kagura ran to his side and he quickly pocketed the flask before she could see it.

“Yeah?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“I got snacks!” She held up two paper bags, the bottoms wet and dripping with grease. “The fireworks are supposed to start soon, so I thought we could eat while we watch. I got _dango, takoyaki, kushikatsu-”_

The sky lit up all of a sudden, a loud _bang-bang-bang_ shaking the earth beneath their feet. Trails of red, blue, and gold sparkled in the twilight sky like tendrils of fire.

“Gin-chan, look!” Kagura cried cheerfully, tugging on Gintoki’s sleeve. “The fireworks are starting!” She turned to grin at him and then paused and blinked, confused. Her hand tightened on Gintoki’s sleeve.

“Gin-chan?”

* * *

.

.

It was a cloudy day in April of 1854 and they were in good spirits. The battle lines were shifting; the Joui were progressing, if only by a couple _jō._ He was fifteen and overconfident, patrolling the edge of the encampment with a fellow soldier six years older named Yuuta and another comrade a year younger from Shouyou’s class who had joined him in arms, a quiet boy with freckles who was good at setting traps named Shige.

They heard it before they saw it, the overcast sky providing ample protection and shielding the devices from view. A loud buzzing noise like a thousand angry hornets resounded from above them, and the sound grew louder as twelve devices in a V-formation- some sort of flying machine, roughly the size of a bale of hay, gleaming chrome and blue lights- descended from the clouds, fog swirling around them in misty tendrils.

“What the hell?” Yuuta mouthed, gaping at the sky. As if on cue, a hatch slid open in the bottom of every device, a bright blue light shining from within.

“Get down!” Gintoki yelled, throwing himself to the mud and covering his head with his hands, but his voice was lost in the infernal buzzing.

The blue light grew in intensity and then suddenly dispersed. For a minute, millions of tiny turquoise glowing spheres the size of a golf ball floated in the sky, bobbing slightly as if carried by invisible waves.

“Look!” Shige cried, clapping his hands excitedly, face bathed in blue. “It’s beautiful- like fireflies!” Gintoki raised his head slightly, mud caking his chin. “Get down!” he hissed, tugging at Shige’s pants, but he remained transfixed, laughter bubbling out of him.

The blue lights flickered for a split second, and then turned a piercing red. The smile on Shige’s face faltered.

With an ear-piercing _bang-bang-bang_ like a thousand firecrackers going off at once, the red lights shot towards them with astounding speed. Two of the red spheres hit Shige instantly, one in his neck and the other in his chest. He fell to the mud, clutching at the clean hole in his neck, blood bubbling from his mouth as he convulsed, face spasming in pain.

Gintoki heard Yuuta yell and looked over, only to see a red light shoot through his eye socket. He collapsed limply, his skull shattered, the slimy pink of his brains glistening on the mud.

“What’s going on?” someone yelled behind him, and he felt the ground shake with footsteps as soldiers poured out of their tents, come to fight what they probably thought was a normal ambush.

“Don’t come!” Gintoki screamed, throwing up a hand. In an instant, the palm of his hand was shot through by one of the red lights, leaving a clean, slightly smoking hole the size of a large acorn in his palm. He dropped his hand instantly- the lights were attracted to movement, he realized.

“We’re coming, hold on!” he heard someone else shout.

“I said, don’t come! Don’t move! If you move-” He broke off, voice swallowed by the sound of millions of bullets, followed by an array of screams.

 _Bang-bang-bang._ The sky lit up crimson. The constant thud of bodies collapsing like puppets without strings accompanied by a steady stream of shouts and cries of pain resounded like an infernal drum beat.

A boy, turned seventeen just last week, ran towards his friend who lay dying in the mud, only to be shot down and tumble on top of his friend, their blood mingling together in the dirt. A man, twenty-four, recently engaged before he left the rice fields for war, attempted to shoot a rifle at one of the devices and was shot through the skull before he even finished loading. One man, perhaps driven mad, ran towards the edge of the camp, flailing his arms as he laughed maniacally. He was shot through in seconds by seven red spheres, falling to the ground in a spray of red mist, still laughing even as he choked on his own blood.

 _Bang-bang-bang._ Gintoki curled up in the mud, frozen, unable to do anything but watch as his comrades were massacred by something they had no hope of defeating. He screamed, because there was nothing else he could do. He was useless.

Eventually the red spheres depleted. The hatches in the devices slid shut, and they ascended back into the clouds, leaving a field of mangled corpses in their wake.

Gintoki didn’t dare move until the rescue team came half a day later. They found him, bleeding in the mud, staring into the cold empty eyes of his classmate’s corpse, mouth open in a soundless scream.

* * *

It was a moment before Hijikata realized something was wrong. He had been observing Gintoki (purely for work-related reasons, thank you very much) when the fireworks went off. He was distracted momentarily, the bright flashes of red making him flinch involuntarily, a reflex from countless battles. Between the _bang-bang-bang_ of the fireworks, he heard a high, reedy voice cry out,

“Gin-chan! Gin-chan, wake up!” and started, mentally shaking himself and looking around for the source of the sound. He could see an area where a small circle had formed and raced over to it, one hand on his sword.

Pushing his way through the crowd- “Shinsengumi, make way,”- he saw the red-headed Yorozuya girl- Kagura, he remembered- shaking someone who seemed to be trying their damndest to curl up in on themselves. As he got closer, he saw who that someone was and felt his heart sink into his stomach.

_Oh._

Everything clicked into place- Gintoki’s nervous attitude, the underlying whiff of alcohol on his breath, the constant hand on his sword. Hijikata had seen it in his fellow soldiers, had experienced it himself once or twice, but _this-_ this was different. It felt _wrong,_ somehow, seeing Gintoki like this- curled up on the ground, hands over his head, whole body shaking, flinching with every _bang_ of the fireworks.

“China-” he started, and then corrected himself. “Kagura. Is Shinpachi here?”

Kagura blinked up at him as if noticing Hijikata for the first time. She nodded, blue eyes watery with tears.

“Go find him, and go straight to his sister’s. Can you spend the night there?”

She shook her head. “I won’t leave Gin-chan,” she said stubbornly.

Hijikata chewed his lip, trying to figure out how to explain the situation in a way she would understand. “This is- right now, Gintoki is stuck. Sometimes people get trapped in memories, and can’t find a way out. Loud noises, being touched, and other people being around can make them get more lost, so to help him get out I have to move him to a quiet place with no people.”

Kagura nodded reluctantly, looking down at Gintoki. “So right now Gin-chan is stuck in his memories?”

“Yes,” said Hijikata, breathing a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if she didn’t believe him. “I know how to help him, but to do that I have to be alone with him or it won’t work. That’s why I need you to stay at Shinpachi’s for tonight. Can you do that?”

Kagura took a minute to consider, looking back and forth from Gintoki to Hijikata, as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. Thankfully, after what felt like hours, she nodded again. “Take care of him,” she said, narrowing her eyes and staring down Hijikata in what seemed more like a threat than a plea.

“Yeah,” Hijikata managed, his throat suddenly dry. For a small child, she was extremely intimidating. Kagura stared him down for a moment longer (Hijikata felt a begrudging respect for Gintoki growing by the second, how he managed to live with such a terrifying child was a mystery) and then ran off, leaving him to deal with Gintoki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while. Sorry for not updating in so long, things have been pretty hectic for me. I moved to Kobe which is cool but also means that I am either working or studying and finding time/motivation/energy to write fanfiction is pretty rare.
> 
> This chapter was really hard to write, I kept writing and erasing and re-writing Gintoki's war flashback. It still doesn't feel perfect but I decided that it was better to update than not at all. Hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (PS sorry for cliffhanger ending)


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